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chaotic-nick · 2 years ago

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Worth the time: Jushiro Ukitake x reader

Here's the second instalment for my '400 follower milestone fic specials' with the theme '[Un]learning' where my favourite life lessons in twenty years of living are used for fics!

Plot: Jushiro is still learning so much about you even after marriage.

wc: 1479

Lesson learnt: my achievements are worth the time to be celebrated and appreciated, and I should not let my past affect how I celebrate my milestones in life.

note: Established relationship - Modern AU where the 13 court guard squads are doing other stuff to build the community - reader is southeast Asian coded - interracial marriage - unedited & self-indulgent

Two months of being newlyweds who moved into their first home together, and going into the third month, Jushiro was only sure that he didn’t know everything about his wife. There was still so much he needed to learn about her— her life before Japan or her life before she met him, and worked harder to learn his language.

Cultural preferences and practices are at the top of it.

“We keep our feet tucked under.” He explained when she looked at his posture when he sat on the floor of their dining area. “Is that what you do?”

Joining him in her place across the table, he noticed that she ate on a banana leaf she impulsive bought for . . . looking beautifully fresh. The only bowl was for her share of the soup. “Left leg’s to balance you, right leg’s. . .” of course not everything was a lesson in culture when she always said the most laughable things in an earnest tone to see him sigh, “. . . something to hug when you’re eating alone.”

Cultural differences aside, there was so much of her that he was noting down in his brain. He needed all the time in the world to learn what made her. Only for that time to be consumed entirely by his duty as a captain in the thirteen court guard squads. She liked being buried under a mountain of pillows when she slept alone in their shared room— it almost recreated the feel of his warmth when they cuddled.

“I always buy extra groceries so I don’t have to go out—” Or, “There’s hot water in the thermos.” So it wouldn’t interrupt the little free time she has to write what her heart wanted to.

. . .

It was in the sixth month of their marriage when he came home after being put on duty in Tsuken Island with Shunsui and Unohana, Jushiro had learnt something about his beloved wife that left his mind with more confusion.

“If I start the machine now then we can relax together . . .” she murmured, taking his duffle bag right after he set it down at the entryway and disappearing into their laundry room.

She scurried in as she quickly as she put the washing machine to work to set plates for his welcome home meal down, beaming with joy as she said, “Ooh! Also iced tea in the freezer, you just eat.”

“Have you eaten?” Catching his eye on the western dining table in the kitchen was an invitation to an award ceremony within the company she worked for.

The invitation still in his hand and its envelope under it Jushiro’s eyebrows were raised, “What about you?” He asked while allowing himself to sit in the chair she pulled.

“Already ate before going to the airport.” He leaned into the steam from the steam coming from the rice she scooped into his plate, inhaling one of the scents that lingered in his home. Followed by his favourite dish. “And then the onigiris at the airport— amazing!”

“Marry a Japanese man for endless onigiri.” Laughed Jushiro. ‘And I’ll marry you again for endless Caldereta.’

“It’s funnier in English— rice balls. Balls. He- he- he,” he set the invitation in front of her to hold his spoon.

Through a mouthful, he asked with a tilt of his chin, “Are you hosting that?”

Hosting was na extra job she picked up at college— “Hard to let it go, extra money’s helpful for emergencies.” She proudly replied after he told her that she shouldn’t worry about medical expenses if he got sick again.

“It’s an award ceremony.” He nodded for her to continue, lifting his plate up for another scoop.

Her tone was more nonchalant than how she scooped rice into his plate, “I’m nominated in a few categories, but I dunno.”

His mind didn’t comprehend the indifference in her tone, going straight to the feel of his heart swelling and how it warmed with joy. Pride even. “That’s my wife.” Exclaimed Jushior, ar,s shooting up to hug her as she tried to set his plate down without making a mess on the table.

“That’s incredible!” A small smile on his face as hers stayed the same.

“It’s a hassle, Jushiro.”

“Why so—” cut off by a fit of coughs when a stray grain of rice got lost in his windpipe. “Hassle? Why’s that?”

“My clothes are still at Hanataro’s for dry cleaning. It feels so overtop to wear it when my friends assured me that I looked casual. In fact, more casual than my usual casual.“ Drinking from his glass, she held up another finger. ”And then I’m not sure if I should tie my hair back or curl it,”

“Do the one when we got married!”

Washing the dishes after he insisted that she sit, Jushior kept to himself even when he wanted to ask why she was so nonchalant about it. Not even asking if he wanted to attend it. Not a sliver of excitement when she told him the categories she was nominated in. A kiss on his cheek brought him out of the train of thought, “Night.” She held on to his arm.

“That level of beauty is only for you, I don’t like anyone else seeing it, Jushiro.”

“I’ll join you soon.”

He wasn’t sure what to wear after Shunsui told him their uniforms would attract unwanted attention the moment he set foot in her company’s building, a white shirt and jeans would be too casual. So he stood at the reception in his kimono, haori draped over his shoulders.

“Good Afternoon,” greeted an employee at the floor. “Are you here for the award ceremony?”

“Yes, actually.”

“Family member or . . .”

“Wife,” he smiled, jumping in the inside. “(Y/n) (L/n),”

“I see,” keeping the door wide open for him to enter the audience, “I think it’s her turn to receive an award. Please let me know if you have any concerns.”

“Thank you I will,” angling his head in search of a ponytail that swung at every turn.

“And now— I’m sorry for my voice,” spoke the man into the mic, sporting a grin as he ignored his colleagues sitting at the seats below the stage. “But being up here only means that the next category is,” a silent clap of his hands with the blue envelope between his fingers. “Voice talent of the year.”

Other than the new addition of her toothy grin in every angle and place in the office, Jushiro nodded his head the more he realised that attending the event was a good decision even when she didn’t tell him anything. One, he never thought that it was possible to see a bright smile become brighter because of his presence alone.

And two, “Oh my legs are about to fall off.” She wouldn’t be able to carry all of the paper bags and bouquets alone on her way home.

“I should’ve borrowed captain Yamamoto’s service car.”

“You can use it for yourself?”

He nodded into the bouquet of carnations, “Shunsui and I are allowed to use it.” Seeing that they stood in front of a pizza shop, Jushior tilted his chin. “How about a break, (Y/n)?”

“Spicy chicken . . .” across her, Jushiro’s eyes held so much love that the menu’s colour scheme couldn’t even tear his eyes away. “Ranch! Oh my god, I miss this. I’m having this.”

Lifting her head up she asked, “What about you?”

“Uhm,” his brain turned to a pile that suddenly forgot how to read. “Hmm, I’m not sure . . .”

“That’s a first.” Peaking over it, “What do you have in mind? Something spicy or—”

“I really can’t decide,” he sighed, “this is probably the lack of sleep or . . .” looking up at her. “You.”

“Ha?”

“Me? I should blame you— I didn’t excerpt you would just be there sitting!”

“Surprised?”

“It was a special event!”

“An understatement but yes, very very surprised. It wasn’t that special but I appreciate it.” Drumming her fingers along the table, “C’mon what are you ordering?”

“Eh, no one really came to my other events when I was growing up so maybe I downplay big things.”

“Oh, Right, your dad was a pilot . . .”

“Still is.”

“Did that affect a lot of things?”

“Most of my life until I was old enough to move out— he always made it clear that I should make his time worth it when there was something school related. So I never knew which was which in all of the events I was a part of.”

Closing the menu, he asked her, “Why don’t we get a bigger size of yours.”

“Spicy chicken ranch?” She repeated slowly, in a tone that he used when she wanted to try a new dish.

“It’s worth a try,” he said, avoiding her wide-eyed look with no trace of hurt in it, ‘and you’re worth the time.’

#nick writes fics #jushiro ukitake x reader #bleach x y/n #bleach x you #bleach x reader #bleach fanfiction

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genshinboys · 4 years ago

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Thigh job with Genshin boys - Zhongli

Genre: Smut

Pairing: Fem reader x Zhongli

Knock-Knock-Knock

You are standing in front of the door to Zhongli’s office at the Wangsheng Funeral Parlour. Upon knocking, you open the door and peek inside only to see the Archon seated at his desk and hunching over some documents. His form relaxes the moment his eyes cast upon your persona.

„Can I come in?” you ask politely knowing very well that Zhongli would never be capable of saying no to you.

He puts aside the pen that was previously tightly squeezed in the palm of his hands. Eyes glistening and his facial expression a tell-tale sign of excitement which he promptly attempts to hide going back to the customary for him calm facade.

Immovable as a rock and yet his world was shaken the moment you waltzed into it.

Zhongli doesn’t mind though and he revels in the way you made everything the Archon thought he knew to go to rack and ruin.

So, he finds himself inviting you and wreaking more havoc in his hitherto impassive and emotionless millenniums of existence.

„Oh, by all means, please do,” he responds courtly. He straightens up in his armchair gesturing to his lap.

You smile knowingly.

Zhongli but adores having you in his lap. The way your soft body fits in there is glorious and the lord of Geo could narrate hundreds of stories about the marvel of you being sat on his thigh tightly pressed into his sturdy physique.

It is his way of unwinding after a long day or taking a break from work. He would find solace and relaxation with you next to him. It becomes habitual and it just occurs naturally. When he sips his tea, scans through documents, reads a book or wants to tell you some of the stories from his past. You sit on his lap and everything falls into place.

He loves the control this setting gives him and the fact that he can easily do whatever he deems fit when your body is conveniently at his disposal.

And you wouldn’t say no. Whatever his intentions are.

So you come over to the handsome god and with a loud scoff unceremoniously land on his lap while wrapping your arms around his neck.

„What’s the matter my dearest?” he furrows his brows but the little crooked smile doesn’t escape your notice. Zhongli can’t help himself, he thinks that you’re just too adorable and pure for this world.

„Oh, Zhongli!” you cry out, „That little bastard Venti stood m-,”

He clears his throat and gives you a reprimanding glare, „Language my little girl.”

You roll your eyes at his antics and wiggle your butt successfully shifting your position so that your whole weight is now on Zhongli’s right thigh and your legs are hanging in the air on the other side of the armchair. He wraps a protective arm around your middle while his free hand starts caressing your uncovered leg, so nicely exposed by the skirt of your choice.

So once you feel all snug and comfortable you continue dramatically, „Zhongli, but he really stood me up! I needed his help with one commission and I found him as drunk as a skunk. He was so sloshed he fell asleep in the tavern and Kaeya had to escort him home!”

„Is that so?” he cocks an eyebrow but he isn’t surprised at all.

„Yes! I wasted so much time because of this motherf-,”

Zhongli shoots you another look of disapproval and you just smile apologetically.

„He’s never been good at holding his liquor, my Dear,” he states the obvious more preoccupied with the way the plump flesh of your thighs reddens when he squeezes it with his leather-clad hand. He allows himself to roam a bit higher and the skirt does little to prevent his movement.

„Dear,” he says as his lips approach your earlobe, „Have you by any chance forgotten to put on underwear yet again?”

You really love Zhongli’s voice. His low rumbles, deep and husky sounds from the back of his throat always give you goosebumps.

And so this time, you shudder in his embrace like a leaf in the wind.

„No, of course I didn’t,” you respond in your defence.

„Mind if I see?” he asks and pushes your skirt out of the way revealing your naked bum.

He clicks his tongue, feeling you up with his long fingers. The gloves he is wearing create nice friction as he strokes your skin.

„I might have forgotten after all,” you admit even if reluctantly.

Zhongli is a patient man. Throughout the centuries he has learned to remain cool and composed despite the most arduous and trying of times. He would have never guessed that this quality of his would so often come in handy when graced with your presence.

„Pray-tell my Dearest, so you did come here, parading around the streets of my city with no decency in your soul left, only to sit in my lap with your bare bottom?”

This question sounded more like an accusation and was rather rhetorical.

You shrug your shoulders for lack of any better excuse.

The archon takes a deep breath and digs his fingers into the meat of your ass.

„You enjoyed yourself last time, no?” you make a point to remind the lord of Geo of your last visit to his office.

„So vulgar,” he criticizes gazing down and marvelling how your smooth skin contrasts with the material of his black slacks. You would often stain them with your juices when the Archon opts for something more than just telling you stories with you in his lap.

„I trust you know what to do, Love,” he adds once again locking his eyes with yours and then kisses your forehead fondly.

You chuckle having no intentions to make the god wait any longer.

You let your hands slide down to his crotch and unbuckle the belt helping Zhongli get his erection out of the tight black slacks. At times like this, you would internally curse the Archon for his strict dress code but it can’t be helped. Zhongli is as stubborn as a mule when it comes to certain customs.

His cock springs free and you bite your lip openly admiring the ex-Archon. It never ceases to thrill you. His shaft is thick and painfully long with popping veins and a swollen tip. He is just so enormously big it intimidates you. You briefly wonder if it has anything to do with him being a half-dragon and you shudder at the thought mentally taking a note to ask him about that next time he places you in his lap.

Zhongli’s heartbeat quickens when you teasingly stroke his impressive girth, your lips finding his and you crash them together hungrily.

He hums in delight when you slide your thumb over the tip of his penis. You break the kiss and flash a cute grin at your immortal lover.

„I want to please you with my thighs,” you inform him matter-of-factly at which he nods somehow too quickly to match his typical indifferent attitude.

„You spoil me, my little one,” he praises in an erotic timbre and his eyes widen when you lift yourself from his lap and turn around.

„Hold my waist, will you?” you ask for some assistance placing your hands on both sides of the chair.

„Certainly, so,” he obliges.

So with some help on his side, you elevate your bum and reach for his hardened cock to delicately insert it between your warm-to-the-touch thighs. Experimentally, you lift yourself up and then push down letting his erection slide between your legs in a smooth motion. You make sure to smudge the leaking pre-cum all over his shaft so that the Archon doesn’t feel any discomfort.

„How does that feel Zhongli?” you ask glancing behind your back only to see his already fucked-out stare which makes your chest swell in adoration.

His lips are parted and eyes half-closed as he holds onto your waist the way you asked him to.

„Absolutely marvellous, my Dear. Please, do continue, hmm?” he encourages albeit struggles to reply.

You carry on stroking him like that, sometimes pressing your thighs a little tighter and he groans as quiet as he possibly can. Zhongli would despise being caught by Hu-Tao when you rub his cock so expertly.

The pace you decide to torture Zhongli with is sickeningly slow and he’s had enough of playing around for today.

You let out a muffled cried when the Archon grabs you even tighter and forces you down on his dick. He repeats the motion in an animalistic tempo taking pride in the way your ass bounces up and down in front of his eyes.

„Zhongli!” you plead as you feel your legs going numb.

„Bear with me a little longer, Love” he coos.

Your whole body hurts and your arms feel as if they were going to give out any moment.

Fortunately, Zhongli isn’t going to last much longer as the pleasure mixed with pain make him approach the brink he so much desires. With one final thrust and a guttural moan he releases and you can feel his hot load on the inner side of your thighs. Some drops of cum land on your lower belly and face. It’s so messy and you feel how your walls contract around nothing in feverish excitement.

He helps you go back to your previous position with his arms now tightly wrapped around your exhausted body. He enjoys the slight twitching of your weary muscles. He reaches for your chin and forces you to face him.

„Home?” you ask in a desperate plea for him to return the favour. Your body aching for his touch.

„Home,” Zhongli agrees, as indeed, the Archon is unable to turn down any of your wishes.

Other boys:

Albedo

Xiao

Diluc

Kaeya

Childe

Kazuha

#zhongli #zhongli headcanons #zhongli scenarios #zhongli smut #zhongli reader #zhongli x reader #zhongli x you #zhongli you #zhongli genshin impact #genshin impact #genshin smut #genshin headcanons #genshin scenarios #genshin drabbles #genshin imagines #zhongli imagines

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phoenixyfriend · 4 years ago

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Anakin, Shmi, and the Jedi Babies

(Plus Jango)

A scene from the Anakin and the Jedi Babies

Warnings for: canon-typical discussion of slavery.

Shmi is eleven years old when the stranger comes.

He’s tall, and covered in the kind of dark clothes that are hell in the desert. He’s got some armor, too, but not as much as the Mandalorians she sees walking around sometimes. His expression is mean, even though he’s smiling, and she thinks the trader is scared of him.

He’s buying her.

“Now I just need a name for the ownership paperwork,” the trader says. She thinks he’s sweating.

“The sale is already completed, yes?” the stranger says. He tilts his head and purses his lips, still smirking. “No sudden fees coming my way?”

“Of course not, honored customer,” the trader simpers.

“Anakin Skywalker.”

Shmi’s heart stops. That’s her family name.

The trader gets a little paler, as he realizes why this man is here. Shmi watches the calculations fly, wondering if he can maybe squeeze out a few extra wupiupi on this sale. Former slaves freeing family, even family they don’t know, always fetches the highest price.

The stranger—Anakin—leans across the counter and looms over the trader, smiling in the most threatening way Shmi’s ever seen. “No sudden fees, right?”

“Well, there will be the code transfer f—”

“I’m the most dangerous person in this city,” the man says, smile dropping away like flies from a bantha. “Don’t make me prove it, friend.”

The sale is secured, the codes handed over, the detonator passing hands.

Shmi falls into step next to Anakin, hurrying to keep up with his longer strides. He takes her a few blocks away without a word, and then into a shallow spot in an alleyway, right where foot traffic won’t be a bother.

“Hey,” he says, dropping to one knee and placing himself where, even when she sets her gaze low, he’ll be there. He smiles at her, hesitant but far, far kinder than what she saw in the shop. “Do you want me to deactivate your chip now, or once we’re on my ship? I can’t remove it until we’re out of here; I’m no surgeon.”

“…now, please,” she whispers, and watches him punch in the numbers and codes to neutralize the bomb she’s carried inside herself since she was three. It’s done in less than two minutes.

“Do you want me to break this?” he asks, voice soft.

She nods, and watches in fascination as he crushes it in his fist with seemingly no effort.

He smiles at her, tosses the shards into the nearest compactor, and then offers her the hand that isn’t in a glove. She takes it, like she used to take her mom’s before they were separated, and follows him through Mos Pelgo. He’s family. He’s cleanly, clearly freed her. She should be able to trust him.

“Where are we going?” she manages to work up the courage to ask.

His stride stutters a bit, his hand squeezing hers, but his voice is even when he speaks. “Well, I would like you to stay with me, but if you have… have any family to return to, that you know how to find…”

“I don’t know where my mom is,” she says. “She got sold when I was four.”

He squeezes her hand again, and she dares to look at his face. His eyes are squinted, angry, and focused on the horizon. She’d call it stormy, if she’d ever been to a planet of water, but she was a child of the desert. She could feel his anger, and it wasn’t hot and sharp and blinding enough to be a storm of sand.

(She felt that it could be, in the intuition that had kept her alive these past years.)

“I see,” he says. “I’m… okay, then. I’d try to find her if I could, but I don’t know how to do that.”

Shmi shrugs. “She was sent to Jabba’s. I don’t think she’s… um. She’s probably dead, now.”

He’s silent in response to that.

“How did you find me?” she asks, because her intuition says to trust this man to keep her alive, even if she thinks she may not trust his temper.

He thinks about that for a second, and then lets go of her hand for a moment to brush aside a layer of his tunic.

A lightsaber.

Her eyes dart up to his, wide and maybe a little awed. He grins, a little more carefree than before.

“Jeedai?”

“A full Jedi knight, believe it or not,” he confirms. “The Force led me to find you. I don’t think I’d have been able to do locate you without it.”

“Wizard,” she whispers, and then he pulls her into his side and out of the way of a large, too-fast-for-these-streets speeder.

He swears under his breath in a language she doesn’t recognize.

“So, I’m going with you,” she says. “Um, where… where do Jedi live?”

“The Temple is on Coruscant,” he tells her. “But I’ve got business in Mandalorian space, so that’s where I’m based out of right now.”

“Okay,” she says. Mandalore… maybe that’s why he’s got armor like one of them. “I… I heard that Jedi are all called Master, so—”

“No,” Anakin snaps, turning around and getting to one knee in front of her again, hands on both her shoulders, stopping her in a fraction of a second with a look so intense that it scares her. “No, you are never to call me that. You are never going to bow your head to a master again, okay? You are free, and you are family.”

She stares at him for a long second, and then nods. She thinks her head jerks a bit too sharply, but he’s scary. He cares so much that it frightens her. He must be able to tell, because he closes his eyes and visibly forces himself to calm down.

“I was freed when I was nine,” he tells her. “By a Jedi Master. And I know… I know how uncomfortable it is to live like that, where the word means something different to you than it does to everyone else. I became a Jedi, so I learned to make it mean what it was supposed to, respect for teachers and—and elders. But you, you’re not a Jedi, you’re just a girl, and you matter, and—don’t make yourself say it. Please.”

“Okay,” she says. “Do I just… do I just call you Anakin, then?”

“Yeah, yeah, that’s fine,” he says, and his hands twitch on her shoulders. She thinks he wants to pull her into a hug, but is forcing himself to stop. “Or Ani, if you want, my—my mom used to call me that. Seems like something to keep for family.”

“Okay,” she says again. She can do that.

“Or, um,” he hesitates, and then barrels on. “We’ll be in Mandalore. They say ori’vod to mean older sibling. So, er, you can call me that. If you want. You don’t have to.”

She’ll have to practice. It looks like it means a lot to him. “I’ll think about it.”

“Great,” he says, and dithers for a moment before he stands up and turns around, black robes flaring. “Come on, let’s get out of the sun.”

He leads her to just outside the city limits, where there’s a small ship waiting, enough for a half-dozen people on longer trips, maybe. She doesn’t know much about ships, but this one’s covered in scratches and pits, like it’s been in fights and come out the other side.

They open the door, and are met with wailing.

Anakin rushes past her, shouting, “Ben!”

Shmi doesn’t follow immediately, but he’s been pretty insistent that she’s family, not property. She’s allowed inside.

She finds Anakin in the main room, holding a baby and bouncing it in his arms as he hisses a demand to a boy only a few years older than Shmi herself.

“—my kids, Jango!”

“I’m here to babysit the ship, not the baby!” the teenager argues back.

Anakin scoffs and turns his attention to the baby in his arms. Shmi isn’t entirely sure, but she thinks the baby is definitely less than a year old. It quiets in his arms, tiny hands fisting in the fabric she knows is still too hot from the sun outside.

“Shmi, you can sit down,” he tells her, distracted. “I’d love to talk more but I think I need to make a bottle for Ben. I’ll be back in a few.”

She looks around, sees a bench, and sits down. She presses her hands together in her lap, keeps her eyes on the japor charm her mother left with her years ago, hanging around her wrist. She can wait. She’s patient. She’ll figure out how freedom works eventually.

“Mmmmmmbook!”

Shmi jolts in her seat as a very small body collides with her leg, blue and white and giggling. The head of that small body turns up to stare at her with massive eyes, and she sees the child’s face is orange. Togruta, she thinks, and very young.

The little one pushes a flimsi book onto Shmi’s lap and pats at it, grinning up at Shmi with tiny, pearly teeth.

“Ad’ika, she just got here,” the-teenager-that-is-probably-named-Jango sighs, dropping into the seat next to Shmi. “Let her rest.”

“Sto-wee!” the baby Togruta insists, patting at Shmi’s leg. The little one tries to climb up onto the bench, and Shmi reaches out to help after she realizes the toddler is about to slip. She receives, in thanks, a delighted grin and a montral to the ribs as the child hugs her.

“’m Soka!” the little one introduces.

“She’s one of Skywalker’s,” probably-Jango says. “He showed up with those two a few months ago in the middle of a chaak’la snowstorm.”

“No!” Soka insists, slapping her little hand on the book a few times. “No ‘ssip! Book!”

Jango lets his head fall against the metal wall behind them. “Fine. No gossip.”

Shmi looks at the little girl, and then back at the book. She’s… well, she can read. Mostly. She can read better than most slaves her age, but this is Basic, not Huttese.

She cracks it open to the first page, finds herself relieved that it really is a children’s story with small words and big letters, and starts reading it out loud. She goes slow. The story is about an eopie trying to find its way home after getting lost, asking other farm animals for help. There are plenty of pictures, and sometimes Soka pats at the book and shouts the name of an animal. It’s very cute, overall.

About two-thirds of the way through, she stumbles. It’s a word she hasn’t seen before, long and with repeating letters that she can’t quite figure out how to say. She pauses, long enough that she’s sure little Soka is confused about why she’s stopped.

“Happabore,” Jango mutters.

Shmi lifts her head, but he’s not looking at her. She looks down at the book again, mouths the letters to herself, and thinks that yes, that probably fits. She keeps reading aloud, letting little Soka tell her about her favorite animals, and when she finishes and looks up, it’s to find Anakin standing across from them.

He’s leaning against a doorframe, bottle-feeding the baby named Ben, and watching them with an expression Shmi thinks might be ‘wistful.’

“Skyguy!” Little Soka cheers, sliding off the bench so she can toddle over to the man as fast as her little legs can carry her. “Skyguy, gots a fweind!”

He smiles indulgently and lets her hug his leg. “I can see that, Snips. You guys have fun?”

“Uh-huh!” the little one tells him. She raises her hands at him. “Up!”

“Sorry, hun, no can do,” Anakin apologizes. “I’m feeding Ben, and I need both hands for that.”

She pouts, and he jerks his chin at Shmi and Jango. “Go back to the bench and you can help me feed him, okay?”

Soka races back.

“Fett, go get the ship powered up,” Anakin says as he ambles over, voice the kind of casually commanding that gives Shmi goosebumps. It’s not familiar, not the way an owner is, but it’s… it’s a voice that’s very used to having authority. “I want us out of here as soon as possible.”

“You’re not the boss of me.”

“I am the commanding officer according to Jaster,” Anakin says, and Shmi watches him raise an eyebrow. “I know it’s not much of a mission, but I am in charge until we’re back on Concord Dawn. You want me to tell him you’re playing at insubordination?”

Jango makes a face, sticking out his tongue. Anakin waits.

Jango goes to start the ship.

“Teenagers,” Anakin mutters, shaking his head. “I want to say I was never that bad, but I’d be lying.”

Soka giggles, bouncing in her seat as Anakin carefully lowers himself down next to her. “Okay, okay, settle down. He’s cranky, kiddo.”

“Wanna help,” Soka stresses, reaching for the bottle. Anakin shifts away from her, keeping it out of her reach. “Skyguy!”

“Slow down, Snips,” he chides. “Climb on my lap and we can hold him together, okay?”

Shmi fiddles with her japor snippet, but she can’t help her fascination with the dynamic presented. Anakin obviously isn’t related to Soka by blood, but he’s adopted her as his own. They haven’t said as much, but it’s obvious. He can’t stop smiling as he talks the girl through holding the bottle for her baby brother, even though it’s obvious from the outside that he’s the one actually holding it, and her, and the baby.

The ship hums to life around them. Anakin tilts his head, as if listening to something, and then goes back to the baby.

It’s another minute before Anakin says, “Okay, that’s enough. I need to burp him. Go on, scoot.”

Soka grimaces as well as a two-year-old can, and slides off of Anakin’s lap onto the bench. He stands and presses the baby up to his shoulder, patting it on the back. There’s a towel there already, something Shmi hadn’t noticed earlier.

“I’m going to go check on Jango,” he tells them. “Shmi, can you get Soka in her seat? I’ll tell you how to buckle her in, but I promised Jango he could fly us back and I want to sit up there to make sure he gets us into hyperspace without, say, exploding.”

It’s only a minute or two to get both of them sat down and buckled in, and Soka spends the entire time until lift-off telling Shmi about how much she likes eopies. This continues well until they end up in hyperspace, the jolt of it making the little one squeal in excitement, even if Shmi feels her stomach drop out. Shortly after, the boys wander back in.

“We’re good for a couple hours,” Anakin says. “Nav computer’s got it until we jump back out. Anyone want a snack?”

“Me!” Soka screeches, bouncing in her seat. “Jan-Jan, snacktime!”

Anakin’s eyebrows climb up towards his hairline. “Well, seems like you’ve got a fan, Fett.”

“Shut up,” Jango grumbles, but he does go over and pick Soka out of her child seat, setting her on his hip and going in the direction of what Shmi assumes is the galley.

“You doin’ okay?” Anakin asks, carefully taking the seat next to her. He sits Ben up on his lap, but the baby has trouble staying in that position. Anakin takes his hands, letting tiny fists curl around his thumbs, to help him stay up.

“It’s a lot,” she says. “But I am happy to be free.”

He grins at her. “Glad to hear it. It’s a lot to adjust to, I know, but… I’m happy to have you with us.”

She nods, eyes on the baby that’s swaying from side to side as Anakin moves his hands, like a very, very small speeder pilot.

“Is he, um, yours?” Shmi asks. “Or did you adopt, like Soka?”

Anakin’s smile, so full of love, drops off. He presses his lips into a thin line, and for a moment, Shmi wonders if she’s made a horrible misstep.

“What… what do you know about Jedi relationships?” Anakin asks, voice quiet.

“Nothing,” she admits, but she’s not ashamed of that. Nobody knows much about the Jedi.

“Okay,” he says, more to himself than to her. “Okay, so… okay. There are a couple ranks in the Order. Younglings go in the crèche, communally raised in groups, and then when they’re five or so, they get to become Initiates. A few years later, usually between ten and fourteen, they can enter an apprenticeship to a Jedi Knight or Master, and the apprentice rank is Padawan. When the apprenticeship is done, they become Knights, basically journeymen, and at some point after that, Masters. There are positions that technically rank higher, councils and heads of divisions, and there’s stuff outside the apprenticeship system, like the service corps, but that’s not super relevant. It’s complicated but we’re only focusing on the apprenticeship path for knights.”

He hesitates, and then continues. “One of the ways to become a Master in the Order is to successfully raise a Padawan to knighthood. I was never an Initiate, because I came to the Order so much later than most. I immediately became a Padawan, and my master was freshly knighted. The relationship between master and padawan is… it’s family. Some of the more orthodox of the Order don’t like to put it in those words, but it really is.

“If I ever talk about my Master, just know I’m not talking about any of the owners I had before I was freed. I’m talking about the man who raised me, the man I saw as a father. He may not have seen me as a son, more a brother, but he was only sixteen years older than me, and… anyway. Jedi lineages are family. Your Master is a parent, or an older sibling, and your Padawan is a child to bring up as your own,” he finishes this off with the kind of deep, heavy breath that she thinks precedes grief. She can’t tell.

“My master is… well, he’s not in a position to teach anyone anything anymore. Ben here is all I have left of him.”

Oh.

Anakin doesn’t look at her, just stares down at the baby that’s gotten cranky again, and rearranges Ben to lie sideways in his arms. He smiles down as the baby burbles up at him, and tickles at the baby’s stomach. Ben grabs at Anakin’s fingers and kicks at the air, laughing in the manner of all children that small.

The man hums, and Shmi is more shocked than she should be to hear one of the lullabies she’s heard in slave quarters all her life.

“He’s your son now,” she says, more firmly than she feels. “He is yours to raise and care for, and I can tell you love him as much as any parent.”

Anakin lifts his head, staring at her like he can’t quite believe she’s there, and tears collect at the edges of his eyes.

“Thank you, Shmi Skywalker,” he says, and she feels like there’s more weight in those words than there should be. He licks his lips, eyes darting away for a second, and then asks, “do you want to hold him?”

She steels herself, and nods.

This is her family now.

Hers.

#Shmi Skywalker #Anakin Skywalker #Obi Wan Kenobi #Ahsoka Tano #Jango Fett #star wars #time travel #de aging #parenting #childcare #baby characters #phoenix posts #Anakin and the Jedi Babies #outside pov

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jasontoddiefor · 4 years ago

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Title: infinitely varied Ship: obikin Summary: Sometimes your husband decides to develop an artificial intelligence capable of free choice and something called a soul and succeeds in the middle of a Thursday night. Or, more concretely: he's in the middle of succeeding because said intelligence first has to learn how to speak.Also known as Obi-Wan and Anakin teach a tiny program called A.H.S.O.K.A. how to be something more than lines of code via the power of linguistics. AN: Happy birthday @ghostwriterofthemachine

Language is a process of free creation; its laws and principles are fixed, but the manner in which the principles of generation are used is free and infinitely varied. Even the interpretation and use of words involves a process of free creation.

Noam Chomsky

Life was a query of expectations, margins on doorframes, bucket lists, first loves, broken hearts, and happy middles because only fools would settle for a happy ending when they had so many decades left to live. The thought never failed to bring a smile to Anakin’s face, no matter how frustrated, remembering the simple way Obi-Wan had proposed. There had been no fancy dinner, particularly stunning outing, or anything resembling outlandish romantic gestures. Anakin would have appreciated them because every act would have been colored by Obi-Wan’s love, but now, older and wiser than the rash youth who’s fallen in love at first heated debate, he preferred the way their proposal had actually gone down. A quiet Sunday morning, eating breakfast together on the sofa while the news droned in the background from Anakin’s old radio, a hesitant “I don’t need forever, but I want the present”.

And, well, for all his genius, Anakin could be a bit of an idiot sometimes, but not when it came to this.

Married life was interesting.

Somehow nothing changed, except also everything. They had bought a real house, moved out of their old apartment and made more compromises than Anakin had ever thought himself capable of, for they hadn’t been like fighting an uphill battle but dancing together. It had made him happy to paint the entrance hall in the shade of green Obi-Wan preferred if he got to paint the kitchen in the light blue he wanted.

Obi-Wan got the attic for his office where his antique book collection looked right at home, and Anakin got the basement where the hum of his servers and the generator powering them annoyed nobody else.

It was as close to white-picket-fence as it could be with two queer men, no kids, a bratty cat, and an anxious dog under one roof. His childhood self would be appalled to see how much Anakin, always the whirlwind, had settled. To a nine-year-old, Anakin probably looked very adult.

Anakin, however, did not feel very grown-up, banging his head against his desk in the middle of the night. Obi-Wan had gone to sleep hours ago, and so had Anakin until inspiration had struck and he’d snuck out of bed to return to his favorite project.

A.H.S.O.K.A may not be a child, but Anakin certainly could relate to exhausted parents when they complained about their children in endless repetitions. To this day, Anakin didn’t know why his mother figured it would be great parenting to encourage her WarGames obsessed kid to dig into the world of artificial intelligence when WOPR nearly started a nuclear war, but he’d forever remain thankful.

Or, he’d resume being thankful when he could finally get A.H.S.O.K.A to learn. He’d rewritten her code a thousand times. It was his ever-constant companion, from his first awful-looking early 2000s website to its current incarnation. A.H.S.O.K.A could solve simple logic puzzles, given that he fed her enough data. Her solutions to tasks could be downright hilarious, but they were not enough. He wanted her to be smarter, better, capable of gaining true understanding.

Perhaps, it was a dream for the future and not a Thursday night.

Anakin didn’t have any work tomorrow morning as he worked as a freelancer, so he could afford to pull an all-nighter. But his dear husband had planned a nice afternoon for them, so Anakin should call it a night or a morning as a glance at the clock told him.

Staring at the many lines of code again, Anakin sighed and leaned back in his chair and took another sip of his by-now cold tea. Obi-Wan would definitely complain that Anakin had snatched his favorite mug once he got up and couldn’t find it in the kitchen. Anakin had bought it at the last linguistic convention Obi-Wan had taken him to.

Language is a process of free invention, it read in delicate cursive before the rest of the quote disassembled in pure chaos.

Huh.

Now there was a thought. Anakin got out of his chair and left the basement, haunted by fixed principles and infinite combinations. Up in the attic, carrying Obi-Wan’s computer downstairs again, Anakin thought on interpretations and free creations. He was as giddy and nervous as he’d been on the morning of his wedding day, which had started similarly early. Connecting Obi-Wan’s computer, and more importantly, the priced result of his thesis, to Anakin’s server felt a little like unwrapping birthday presents.

language_acquisition_prediction.exe

Enter.

II.

Obi-Wan was not surprised when he woke to an empty bed. Anakin had a habit of suddenly pulling all-nighters or getting up early before the sun even thought of rising. Given that he couldn’t smell breakfast yet, Obi-Wan deduced that Anakin had pulled an all-nighter again. He slowly crawled out of bed to avoid disturbing Artoo and Threepio sleeping to his feet. Obi-Wan was pretty sure he shared his bed more often with his pets than he did with his husband.

He walked down the stairs to the ground level and went by the kitchen to prepare himself a cup of tea. To his displeasure, Obi-Wan couldn’t find his favorite mug and so had to settle for another. After another thought, he decided to make a second one for Anakin, lavender this time so Anakin would hopefully crash after breakfast. He put both mugs on a small tray together with a couple tomatoes. Obi-Wan usually wasn’t one for eating a full breakfast on workdays – that was the influence of Anakin and his mother’s kitchen – but he was the expert in smalltime snacks. With both in hand, he walked down the second flight of stairs, down to the basement. As expected, he found Anakin at his desk, clinging to what was bound to be a cold cup, staring intensely at his screens, which were running one program or another.

“Good morning,” Obi-Wan greeted him and kissed Anakin’s cheek.

“Mo-orning,” Anakin replied, a yawn interrupting him halfway. “Wait, what time is it?”

“Eight,” Obi-Wan said. “How long have you been up?”

“Uuuh.” Obi-Wan didn’t need to see Anakin’s face to know the answer. “Did you even go to sleep?”

“I did sleep for a while!” Anakin argued. “But then I had an idea, I mean, look at this!”

Obi-Wan gave the screens a closer look. Despite common misconceptions, he was not technically illiterate. Privately, he blamed the fact that Anakin was quite well known for his tech know-how and Obi-Wan tended to talk more about literature given that he was filling in as a lecturer in the British Lit. department. Nevertheless, Obi-Wan had gotten his professorship with a program he’d written, and the code currently displayed on the screens looked very similar to a section that had given him stress nightmares. “Is that my thesis?” he asked.

“Yes, sorta, partially?” Anakin replied. “I kind of took it apart a lot and maybe corrupted it a bit, but that’s not the important part! Look what she’s doing with it.”

She could only refer to one person, intelligence. There were a few constants in their life, their new house the most recent one, and Ahsoka was probably the longest. Obi-Wan didn’t know why Anakin hadn’t set her aside already, he was happy enough to leave other started-never-finished projects lying around, but the last time he’d even just suggested such, Anakin had looked heartbroken.

Obi-Wan looked at the screen Anakin was pointing at and began to read.

script input: inhibition auditory input 1 designation skyguy: /ˌɪn.ɪˈbɪʃ.ən/ auditory input 2 designation professor: /ˌɪn.hɪˈbɪʃ.ən/ analysis: mismatch diagnosis: outstanding

script input: better auditory input 1 designation skyguy: /ˈbet̬.ɚ/ auditory input 2 designation professor: /ˈbet.ər/ analysis: mismatch diagnosis: rhoticism? query: define

The text continued for a while, though apparently Ahsoka only picked out the mismatched parts in her analysis.

“Is that ‘Must have done something right’?” Obi-Wan asked, the connection between the words suddenly starting to make sense.

“Yes!” Anakin grinned. “I wasn’t quite sure how to teach her sounds properly because I hadn’t equipped her with a sound analysis program before and I figured that if babies just learn by listening to their parents, Ahsoka could learn by listening to us.”

“So you fed her audio of us singing?” Obi-Wan wasn’t sure whether to be impressed, confused, or just plain tired but decided to settle on confusion for now and let the course of the conversation determine where they’d end up.

“That too, but I actually just started by playing old voice messages. I figured getting her used to just one phonetic inventory would be enough for now. Honestly, for the first hour, I wasn’t even sure whether that would be of any use because she had no symbols to connect the sounds to, and I thought using the IPA might bias her.”

Because, of course, Anakin never deleted any of Obi-Wan’s voice messages and just kept them on his phone. The fact that he just glossed over it as if it weren’t anything special either made Obi-Wan smile.

“It’s cute that you think we have the same inventory,” Obi-Wan commented. “But continue. You just let her listen to sounds and then? Don’t tell me you gave her written texts.”

Anakin rolled his eyes and confirmed another one of Ahsoka’s queries before answering. “No, I gave her the IPA then and let her listen to the full inventory and then analyze which ones we use.”

That made enough sense. Obi-Wan was reasonably sure it was a great deal more complicated than Anakin was lying it out right now, but it was still within the realm of possible and not downright sci-fi. There were enough programs that could analyze speech and filter out patterns, recognize even emotions and tone. Feeding data to a computer wasn’t too different from the way babies learned, though, as far as Obi-Wan knew from talking to people with children, they didn’t like their progeny being compared to lines of code.

“And you accomplished this by feeding my thesis program, which is meant to predict the language acquisition of children, to Ahsoka?”

“Yes, that, uh, happened more or less,” Anakin said, his nose scrunched up just so that Obi-Wan knew he wasn’t certain. “I’m pretty sure I like, wrote some of it down. Not all of it because I knocked out at like 4 a.m., which resulted in pretty interesting inquiries on the great vowel shift.”

Obi-Wan froze. “She’s asking about the great vowel shift?”

There was a difference in the size of the Atlantic between analyzing sounds and recognizing a six-hundred-year-old change in pronunciation.

“Not really,” Anakin said. “She just noticed the patterns? And had inquiries? We’ve been following up on it since, mostly by also giving her written text, but I think that might have backfired and confused her a bit. I’m thinking of synching up the input with a visible feed so she’d learn to associate an actual object with the sound, but I’m not sure whether that wouldn’t just lead to her matching data instead of actually learning its relevance. Can teach an AI what an apple looks like, sounds like, tastes like, but that doesn’t mean you can teach it what an apple is and all that.”

Anakin smiled impishly, and unfortunately, despite his generally messy appearance, Obi-Wan still thought he was handsome. “Please don’t cite my book back at me like that.”

Closing his eyes for a moment and pinching his nose, Obi-Wan tried to focus. This was not how he expected to start his free day. He needed to wake up and possibly grab his notes to sort out this mess. This almost made him wish the car was still wrecked and Anakin would spend all his free time fixing that. “Did you have to start her on English of all languages?”

Anakin was fluent in two other romance languages; it would have been much easier to deal with a French AI than an English one. Sighing, Obi-Wan looked at Ahsoka’s latest question and promptly frowned.

script input: bear auditory input: /beər/ match found: bare analysis: mismatch diagnosis: failed word formation query: bear = bare? query: deletion >bare<?

“How long has she been doing that?” Obi-Wan asked.

“Doing what— oh, that’s new.”

So Ahsoka had jumped from matching sounds to text to comparing sound to words and then referencing those words against one another. That was a logical step, but also a step Obi-Wan wasn’t quite sure she should be doing without prompting.

“She thinks bear and bare are related because they have the same sound. Didn’t really expect that turn of events. Should I show her those are two different words?”

“Does she even know what a word is yet?” Obi-Wan asked in turn.

“No.”

“Then teach her what a word is first— after breakfast. I want your pancakes.”

“You never want pancakes on a Friday.”

“My husband also never decided to rope me into teaching an artificial intelligence morphology before.”

Obi-Wan needed a proper meal for this. He could talk to his students on an empty stomach, but he could not deal with the latest brand of Skywalker insanity without something sweet first.

“I haven’t—”

Ever the negotiator, Obi-Wan decided to shut Anakin up with a kiss. “After breakfast.”

Ahsoka’s many questions could wait for an hour.

#star wars #obikin #obi wan kenobi #ahsoka tano #anakin skywalker #fanfic

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ladyeliot · 4 years ago

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The September Foundation Grant

Request: @iawaythrown Avengers x Teen reader. The reader is a brilliant engineer, that makes (grade A+) battle armor & weapons. The Vulture and the reader works together by selling these illegal armor & weapons. (The Vulture even gives the reader profit because the reader lives alone) The reader learns at school (The R is the quiet/loner kid) about Vulture getting arrested and they soon decide to leave New York and disappear. They grab all their money and leave but is followed/arrested by Tony and Peter at the reader house. They learn that the Vulture snitched on him. Ending could be up to you.

Pairing: Vulture / Iron Man / Spider-man x Teen!Reader

Warnings: Illegal work.

Word count: 1829

A/N: Sorry it took so long! / Sorry for my spelling and grammatical mistakes, English is not my native language, I am learning.

Anything could happen in New York City. A place that never slept, that was always awake at all hours, where criminals and children went everywhere hand in hand. Everything was hidden, but also in plain sight, if you knew where to look. Its streets were a labyrinth, but they always led to a way out, everything had an end. Its neighbourhoods were small communities distributed by culture or social status, but that did not prevent them from relating to each other. A teenager raised in Queens might have different limitations than one raised in the Upper East Side, but it all depends on the person. What I mean is, you never know what your life is going to be like in New York City.

Your mind was in constant operation, even if you wanted it to, it never stopped, it never rested, in a millisecond the thought passed through it 'when was the last time I slept'. You were in a hangar near the Harlem docks, this lucrative activity occupied a large part of your free time after high school, taking up your weekends as well. You could call it 'extracurricular activity' or also 'gainful employment', or maybe a combination of both, after all you were improving your engineering skills and earning money for it.

You had been enrolled in that new business for more than five months, your expectations for the future had changed, now you weren't so sure if going to university was what you really wanted. You were not driven by the easy money, what you were doing was much more than that, it was money, knowledge and all the adrenaline possible to do something legally binding. All the talent that you thought would be wasted and that you had never been valued was now being used to do something else, to be someone in the world, even if it was in the hidden world.

You designed, created and crafted technologically advanced combat armour and weaponry, you built things you hardly thought you would be able to make. All you needed was the time and the facilities that Adrian Toomes had offered you. He discovered you, he had set his sights on you and trusted you, something that many other people had not done before. In your past years you dreamed of getting a position at MIT, but now it was no longer among your priorities, at least for the time being.

Adrian's discovery came about in the most natural way possible. You were attending Midtown School of Science and Technology, and one day during a chemistry class the teacher had the brilliant idea of paired assignments, so you were paired with Liz Toomes. Liz is a really intelligent young woman, the problem in question was the wide difference between your characters, your quiet countenance and your passivity for social relations caused discomfort among your classmates, but leaving that aside, you decided to go to her house to do the work. It was there that you met her father, Adrian, who found your project notebook when you dropped it on your way to Liz's room. He was clever, slipping in a note with his personal phone number expressing his interest in your projects. At first you were completely shy of the idea, but eventually you agreed, otherwise you wouldn't be in that situation.

The first project you did was an improvement to his exo-suit, he had been working on it for years, but for reasons you didn't know he didn't want to tell you who had helped him make it, he just told you that you had everything you needed at your disposal and that he wanted to see what you could be able to do, and so he did.

Since that day the small business you had in your hands had evolved, Toomes was in charge of the public-facing transactions, and you were hidden away carrying the full weight of engineering. But that didn't mean that when you went back out on the streets you became a normal teenager again.

On a Monday like any other Monday, New York City was glowing in the sunlight. On the drive to school we went over in a steady stream what we had studied for the maths exam you had in the fourth period, although it was really something you had passed a long time ago. You kept yourself hidden under a pair of headphones, listening for anything that would prevent you from interacting with people. Your day-to-day actions when you walked through that door were mechanical. You walked thirty-three steps down the main corridor, turned right, twenty-seven steps to your locker, entered code 5432, opened it and took your books, dropped off your lunch, closed it again and headed for your class, trying not to bump into anyone who crossed your path. That, day after day.

But that day, that second between songs, when your ears came back to the real world you heard a word "Vulture". Your senses quickly focused on the conversation that group of girls were having, you stopped the music and without looking at them you sharpened your hearing.

"My cousin just sent me the video," one of them said, showing her mobile phone to the others. "He was arrested tonight, on the Harlem waterfront. Isn't Spider-man cool?"

"Wow!" exclaims one.

"I can't believe the Vulture is Liz's dad," adds another girl. "By the way does anyone know anything about her?"

That conversation caused a pang inside you. You quickly, but as calmly as possible, closed your locker and headed in the opposite direction of the entire student body, heading back outside. You knew what this meant, your mind had explored various scenarios about the possible events that could happen if the FBI or anyone else discovered you. You knew what you had to do, how to do it and where to go, you had created a plan in your head. You didn't trust Adrian to take all the blame and you would come out of the situation unscathed, you were a minor and could always appeal to a corrupt situation, but that wasn't your style either.

Step by step you were fulfilling your plan, the first thing was to erase any traces that implicated you in those events, you had to go home and get rid of everything you had in your possession that implicated you, both physically and virtually, then it would be better for you to disappear for some time, you had plenty of money to do so and you knew that your family would not care too much where you were.

You went into the house, you had hours ahead of you until one of your parents returned. You went to your room and began to tidy up every gadget or item on your bed that connected you to the crime. It took you very little time compared to how long it took you to erase your fingerprints from the virtual world, it was obvious that you kept your figure hidden under a pseudonym, but every weapon or armour that the FBI had confiscated had your fingerprint on it, a fingerprint that could lead them to you.

The hours passed, you knew that sooner or later your parents were going to walk through the door, time was running out for you to catch a bus out of that city. You opted to pack up your things, leave that note and continue erasing data during the long trip to Arizona, but it was too late. A loud noise from the hallway alerted you that your time had come to an end.

"Ms. Y/L/N, you know what they say about sometimes you have to run before you walk?" Iron Man appeared before your eyes. "Too slow."

The armour that stood before you cut off your main passage to the exit, though you knew in your gut that there was little you could do against it without outside help. Slowly you reached inside your backpack and pulled out one of your unfinished projects, a laser that fired a powerful beam at the armour. That mere distraction allowed you to turn around and head inside your bedroom with the intention of climbing out of your window and down the fire escape, however as you were about to do so a body burst through the window, launching a slimy mass that stuck you to the wall of your room. In front of you Iron Man and Spider-man, both staring at you, and you feeling the most vulnerable being at that moment.

"Wow!" Spider-Man picked up the laser from the floor. "This is cool! What kind of energy does it work with?"

"Hey kid! Put that down," his ally informed him. "Okay, do you know why we're here?" he asked waiting for an answer that never came. "Not very talkative, I understand, I was going to explain it to you anyway, do you know Adrian Toomes? I guess so, at least he knows you, he gave your name." your face hardened. "Yeah, well, I wouldn't be that surprised."

You remained impassive, listening to his every word and trying to form a plan in your head that would help you escape the situation.

"Listen, I have no intention of selling you out to the police," suddenly the Iron Man suit vanished, revealing the figure of Tony Stark before your eyes. "I admire you, I really do, well I don't mean I admire that you joined a group of criminals and created technologically enhanced weapons and sold them, but I admire your skills.

"Isn't that what you've done?" you finally interjected, responding to her retorts.

"Oh! She speaks!" he pointed at you, looking at Spider-man. "Good point. But to the point, you decide, you either come with us and decide to join the good side, or we leave you here for your parents to find you, explain everything that's happened and then to the police. You decide. The clock is ticking."

Your mind was reactivated again, it was clear that there were two options and only one of them was within your prospects. It might take you a while to forgive yourself for what you were going to do next, but it was your only way out. You nodded slowly and clenched your jaw tightly as you surrendered to those in front of you.

"Good choice," Tony said with a nod as Spider-man released you from those webs that had invaded your body.

From down the hall you heard the front door open and two people walked in, engaged in conversation, your parents. Your eyes widened exponentially.

"Just in time," Tony said. "See you later, kid. And you and I," he looked at you, "are going to explain to your parents about the September Foundation Grant."

Requests/Taglist Open (DM)

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coffeequill · 4 years ago

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Yaim’la

A gift for @toasty-cowboy with all my love. They drew this art (link) and it is just so breathtakingly adorable, and toast is an awesome friend, and writing for people is my love language. Enjoy <3

Ao3 Link

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He received the coordinates in the dead of the Razor Crest’s night cycle. He woke in the pilot’s chair, slow to realize he’d dozed off at all, eyes slowly blinking to the light of the control board as the blurriness of sleep disappeared. He was exhausted, leaning his head one way and the other to crack. A small, warm weight in his arms made a tiny coo before snuggling closer against his collar and Din let out a tired breath as he held the kid tighter.

But as he opened his eyes again, he realized it was the comms light blinking, and he had a message awaiting his attention.

At first he thought to ignore it. He was warm and comfortable even in the stiffness of the seat, the kid snug where he was on Din’s chest. But after a moment he willed himself to move, one arm holding the baby in place as he pushed off the floor to turn. He reached out to hit play on the message. A crackle played as the hologram appeared and the kid’s ears twitched, but no person popped up to speak to him. Instead he looked at a series of words written out in Mando’a, nonsensical at first until his mind caught up.

A code. Each word was a number written out in word form. He sat up and leaned in to look, scanning it over, though it still made no sense at first. There were spaces between the sets of numbers, clearly differentiated, but the longer he looked, it only…

Children’s Code.

The realization hit him all at once, a memory deep in his mind that was pulled out from his childhood. As the kid whined with his unwilling wakefulness, turning in Din’s arm to peer at the blue light, Din had swiveled around and was tapping at his NAV computer. He typed out the code as he read it, then stared down at the numbers and slowly, uncertainly, began to delete some. The first number, and then the number that came two spaces down. Then the number three spaces down from there. Then, the last number. He wasn’t confident, but if he remembered it right, he should be able to input it and get a planet.

He typed the code into the Crest’s database and hit search. A bar popped up on the screen, slowly filling as it combed through the computer. Din took a deep breath and waited, feeling the kid start to squirm in his arms.

Jynura.

“Here we go,” he muttered, earning an ‘eh?’ from the kid. “Green. Like you. Connected ocean and two continents. A little populated, but… concentrated.”

The baby yawned and rubbed at his eyes.

Din set to work on decoding the rest. Children’s Code was something that had been out of his mind for years, though he remembered being sat down amongst other recruits and taught it. It was simple enough to teach to children, hence the name, and simple enough that foundlings could understand once they’d learned numbers in Mando’a. He knew he’d done it right when the computer rotated the image of Jynura and pinpointed a single location — one wrong number and it would have not reacted at all. He took a deep breath as he stared at the location.

His tribe was alive.

His tribe wanted him back.

The sensation of relief that hit him all at once was so powerful for a moment that he could only slump forward, resting his helmet against the computer’s angled edge. He took a deep breath. The kid cooed curiously in his arm. His tribe was alive enough to relocate, to message, and had at least forgiven him enough to invite him. As he leaned back, he spotted the last part of the text, significantly smaller and tucked in the corner.

Respond if received, it said. This is the Way.

Din reached for the computer, setting aside the coordinates. He typed out the word. Received. He sent it back to the signal the message had come from and leaned back, taking a deep breath. Then, with a sense of satisfaction, he began to input the coordinates into the computer to change their course and—

The messenger pinged. Din’s head jerked to the side and he tapped play. Another image popped up — more text in Mando’a. Din stared at it, slowly translating in his head, taking longer to be sure he was reading it properly. It was… Names of food. Medical gear. Clothing and sizes. He reached the bottom of the list and let out a long, deep sigh.

They were sending him to do their groceries.

He got it all. From planet to planet, bouncing across the galaxy to procure exactly what had been requested of him, knowing for certain that there was no room to get it wrong if he didn’t want to suffer the consequences. He wanted their forgiveness, wanted his tribe back, and so if they wanted a type of food that was only found in one town on one planet and would take him four extra days to get there, only to spend about five minutes on the planet itself before leaving again — damn it. He’d do it.

“Bah?”

“Shush,” Din said. His hand drifted down to smooth over green ears and the baby was peering up at him from his place in Din’s lap. “We’ll get there soon.”

It had been three months now since the original message came through and only now was he finally typing in the original coordinates. As Jynura appeared, the Crest’s navigation zeroing in on the final destination, he pulled up the best routes. If they were lucky, it’d be a smooth ride with no surprises. He’d get to sleep — even the fastest hyperspace lane would take them days. He could re-check their supplies and be sure that he had everything. That the kid was alright and he was rested and everything was correct.

He did just that. He slept, curled up in his bunk with the kid napping overhead. He opened each travel crate, secured to the walls and floors, counting and re-counting that he had it all. Once, twice, a third time. The toys, the weapons, the food, the clothes, the medical supplies and equipment. He’d even gone extra on the supplies and bought a little more in bulk than he really needed to, than he could reasonably afford. But perhaps he really ached for their forgiveness.

Jynura was a beautiful planet, though relegated to only two continents with various islands littered across half of the planet. As they entered the atmosphere, the kid cooed and stood in his lap, hands braced against the dashboard. He tried to peer out the windows and Din gave him a gentle nudge back down. “Stay there, kid,” he muttered. The kid let out an impatient grumble. But turbulence had knocked the baby from his lap before.

Below were refreshing shades of blue and green. This side of the planet, the sun was beginning to set, and he wasn’t sure how fast the day cycle went by. As they flew towards the exact coordinates, Din reached across the dashboard to begin landing. The kid was becoming more restless, interested in seeing what was out there, and Din muttered a curse as he had to grab the kid again. “I know you’re excited. Stay.”

Finally, they reached the coordinates and the Razor Crest hovered in the sky above a forest. There was a clearing in the trees, just big enough for the ship to land, and this time the child kept himself still as they lowered down. Slowly, the ship settled on the ground, and Din let out a breath. Safe and sound. The kid cooed and began to squirm down from Din’s lap to reach the floor.

“Whoa, kid. We’re going.”

He brought the kid up to his shoulder, holding him with one hand as he got up from the chair. For a moment he froze in place. Just outside, he could hear… voices, shouts, and he whipped around to come back to the dashboard. He looked down and for a moment he could only stare at the sight below. Mandalorians were emerging from beneath the trees. Their rifles were out, blasters in hand, a cautious measure he could only expect. But there was a relaxation to them, too, when their weapons were only half ready and they were looking up towards the cockpit.

From the trees, blue armor appeared, and Din was getting down the ladder as fast as he could. He all but dropped down into the cargo hold and hit the door lock. As the side door began to open, lowering down to the ground, he adjusted the squirming baby and then took a step out onto the ramp. The sun was beginning to set on this side and the air was warm, a breeze blowing by as he looked at his tribe.

One. Two. Three, four, five, six. Those were just the adults looking at him now, and the guns practically dropped the moment their visors settled on him. The baby quieted, instead staring at them with wide eyes before looking up at Din. Din’s own eyes fell to Paz, the blue giant among the rest, and then the glint of the Armorer’s golden helmet behind him. His heart nearly stopped in his chest, and then small training helmets peeked out from behind the adults.

“Beroya!” a child shrieked.

He nearly tripped over himself coming down the ramp, the relief almost overwhelming, and he strode towards them. He almost ran. But he looked at them again, looked at Paz, and for a moment he hesitated. He wasn’t sure what their greeting would really be like, how much they did want him back, when regardless of the foundling he had brought death and destruction on their already decimated people. It would be justified, he thought, if they didn’t really want him, if they just needed his ship and his credits to survive, if they wanted him to just drop supplies off and then get out. He’d do it, for them, if one day he could earn forgiveness for what he’d done and—

“Din.”

But Paz closed the gap before his thoughts could consume him. Din gasped as he was nearly tackled in a hug, Paz’s arms tight around him and Din’s helmet clinking off the bigger Mandalorian’s cuirass. He clutched the kid tighter, his heart pounding. At first it was only a shock and he almost wanted to break free from the hold until Paz’s helmet tapped against his.

“You’re alive.”

Din stared at the beskar in front of him before he squeezed his eyes shut and let out a breath. No, they didn’t hate him. Taking a deep breath, he wrapped one arm around Paz’s neck to hold on just as hard and gripped the baby securely. The kid began to babble at Paz, planting two hands against his cuirass, but neither Mandalorian moved. Footsteps approached and another hand touched Din’s arm, another against his back, the Mandalorians crowded around. Din swallowed around the lump in his throat and couldn’t bring himself to move.

“Vod,” he whispered.

“Vod,” Paz murmured, a hand coming to the back of Din’s helmet. Din almost wanted to flinch, but just barely stopped himself and relaxed instead. Paz leaned back to look at him before his gaze dropped to the baby, who stared back up with wide eyes. “Hello, ik’aad.”

“Buh,” the kid babbled. With hesitance, Paz brought his hands up, and Din hesitated as well but leaned forward and eased the kid into Paz’s hands. The child didn’t resist and instead just cooed as he tilted his head to the side. He was so small in Paz’s hands.

The Mandalorians gathered around them. Din looked around and while faces were hidden behind helmets, he could almost feel their smiles. “Hey, Djarin,” one said, and a few echoed the greeting in their own words, nodding at him. The children were leaning around from behind their adults, practically bouncing on their feet. The Armorer stood a little further back with her hands at her sides and a sparker in her grasp.

“I got everything,” he said, looking past to her. The Armorer nodded, and through it he could feel her approval.

Paz cradled the boy in his elbow with tender care and the kid was smiling, looking quite comfortable where he was. As Din looked down at him, Paz cleared his throat and his gaze was drawn back up. “Thank you,” Paz said. “For…”

For coming. For showing up. It was right there, and Din knew it. It was on his own tongue too. He thought again of Nevarro, of hunkering down in that tiny transport with a drugged child beneath him and no way out. Blaster bolts flying overhead as Din made his body into a shield, whispered a prayer, desperately hoped that someone else could pick up the pieces and fix his mistakes. He thought of how quickly the answer to his prayer had come, his own tribe flying in, and the saving grace of Mandalorians flying into battle again. When Paz, his brother and best friend and his family, all of those things at once, had landed beside him. Get out of here. This is the Way.

He thought of Paz’s words in the sewer, the brutal sting of “coward”, the disgust in his voice. How he’d been ready to damn Din or, if he were merciful, just kill him. How Din had walked out of the covert with new armor and new guilt.

They still showed up. They were Mandalorians. Din just shook his head. Don’t need to apologize for being a Mandalorian, he thought, and Paz just nodded.

“Let’s get the stuff moving!” someone called, and the Mandalorians began towards the ship to unload it. Din just smiled, turning to watch.

Their home was being built in the form of small huts, a slow but steady construction. They were hidden beneath the trees and out of sight of passing ships. Two more Mandalorians returned with wood in their arms, giving Din nods as they saw him, before walking by. Din stood in the center of it all, looking around at the activity and feeling… lost.

He was told to relax. They would handle the supplies. But he wasn’t sure what to do with himself when he wasn’t helping.

“He’s a happy kid.”

Din turned around. Paz stood beside him, a box of holopads and a blanket in his hands, and Din followed his gaze. Several feet away beneath a tent, the Armorer stood with the children. They were gathered around the baby, who sat on a box facing away. Just barely, Din could catch the glint of the Crest’s lever grip, the child’s favorite toy. For a moment, he paused. He hadn’t let the kid take it with him.

“... He is.” Din crossed his arms. “Sometimes seems like nothing bothers him at all.”

The children giggled. Paz’s own son stood beside the Armorer, rocking on his feet as he watched the kid float the ball. Din smiled, and Paz let out a barely audible breath as his shoulders lowered. He turned and looked to Din more head-on and Din met his gaze.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

Din drew in a breath. “You don’t have to—”

“I do. The things I said to you were — I hated the thought that you were out there, possibly dead, without having gotten the apology from me you deserved.” His voice became quieter as he let out a sigh. “I said you were a coward, that you were a friend of the Empire, and… I said it out of anger and hurt. But I know that does not excuse it.”

Din stared at him. He truly had not expected an apology. He had expected them to give a nod of acknowledgment that it had happened but they were okay now, for it to be an issue that sank under the bridge and watered over and never spoken of again. That was all he needed, all he’d ever really gotten in his life. And Paz, through their childhood and adolescence and adulthood, had never quite been the type to apologize. He did, when his buir made him. Din had occasionally been the recipient of those incidents back when they were first warming up to each other. But this was…

“Din?”

“Thank you.” He swallowed. “I appreciate that.”

Paz looked at him, then back over to the kid. The others around them were carrying the supplies to be stored or working on their armor. Ghilran had looked at the Crest and grumbled at Din for all he’d put her through, now busy with his hands deep in the ship’s paneling to make adjustments. The kids were being entertained, the Armorer seeming quite curious of the baby’s power, and birds chirped overhead.

It felt so peaceful.

“Last one was a draw,” Paz said.

Din dragged his gaze away from the kids.

“Our last fight.” Paz looked down at him. “It was a draw.”

“Our…” Din smirked. “So it was.”

“How long do you think it will take for me to kick your ass one more time?”

“I’ll end it faster.”

Paz shifted the box in his hands to give him a shove towards the open field, and Din stumbled with a grin. The box was set down with care before Paz followed and Din turned as he backed up. Then they were off and running. They were together again, for a moment they were kids again, and Din was home.

#coffee writes #toasty-cowboy #din djarin #grogu #paz vizsla #the mandalorian #the mandalorian fanfiction #star wars

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splicejunction · 5 years ago

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Please tell me about shatterstar's Childhood

oh my god anon okay I’m assuming in context of what I’ve recently posted you want like... my version of events rather than what’s canon but just in case I hope you know that there’s basically zero canon material that actually describes his childhood/young adulthood beyond “I was a warrior born” or whatever the fuck. if you want to know about that idk go on the fucken... marvel wiki page or something

also--I hate that I have to put this out here and I doubt anyone would actually do this but just in case--I have spent like 1 million hours thinking about this because I have brain disorders and it is very close to my heart so please do not A) use this in fics, etc without letting me know/getting my permission in advance or B) reblog this post

anyways. this is a can of worms so I’m going to do a cheeky lil

first we have to get something out of the way: I hate the “shatterstar’s his own grandpa” paradox. I am sorry if this angers people but it makes me mad so I ignore it. the reason it bothers me is because it means alison blaire essentially married her grandson, which is A) weird and B) bad from a genetics perspective.

in my version of canon ‘star IS the biological child of longshot and dazzler but longshot wasn’t cloned using ‘star’s DNA because..... oh god... another whole separate post can be made about this but... in my head, on mojoworld the way genetic engineering works is not really the same as it is here. here genetic engineering generally means taking an existing genome and inserting or deleting genes. this is how they make, for example, animals that glow, or confer pesticide resistance to plants.

but on mojoworld I think the way they genetically engineer is more like... the way we mechanically engineer. like the entire organism is built from the ground up. there’s a master genetic blueprint which is essentially the “minimal genome” required for a functioning humanoid. this was created by study of Earth humans by arize and the other genetic engineers. they can then go in and customize by adding elements to the genome that code for the signals/building blocks that control things like height, strength, hair color, eye color, having hollow bones etc. so in my head longshot was sort of... designed with ‘star as the inspiration, but not directly cloned. that wouldn’t even make sense anyways because A) different hair color and B) LONGSHOT HAS 3 FINGERS ON EACH HAND and shatterstar has 4!! thats NOT HOW CLONES WOULD WORK!!!!

(side note, the concept of a minimal functional genome is a real thing in biology! some scientists have taken a bacterium that already has a small genome and reduced it to the minimum size required for viability. here is a wikipedia article on it and here is the original paper (DOI: 10.1126/science.286.5447.2165) which I can explain in more detail because I took a class on synthetic biology which this technically falls under and I had to read this paper very closely).

fuck I’ve written 4 paragraphs and not even talked about his childhood yet. I am so sorry. anyways. so the way I think they raise the gladiators on mojoworld is they create them in batches of 5 to 10 identical copies of a certain “model”, place each copy in a different “class” with a set of 2-3 mentors/teachers, and train them to fight until they are 13 or 14. until this time the only names they have are the names that identify the “model”--like for shatterstar that would be gaveedra-seven where the model identifier is “gaveedra” and he is (in the lore that I have come up with) the 7th of 8 total.

the reason they create multiples and put them in different classes is each mentor is going to have a slightly different style of teaching which is going to work better for some and worse for others, so it allows them to have more mass production while increasing the chances of creating a truly great champion. it’s classic nature versus nurture--the genetic engineers create your nature, but you don’t end up exactly the same as others of your model. maybe you get an edge, maybe you don’t.

another thing that happens is different mentors believe in different ways of raising the kids in their care. shatterstar specifically was raised in a class where there was absolutely zero emotional development at all and no attachments allowed beyond fighting alliances. that’s not the case in all classes, and it also had the effect of making him somewhat of an outsider even within the other gladiators as he got older.

at 13 or 14--and yes I realize this is very fucked up but dude its fucking mojoworld idk what you expected--they start participating in fights. the first ones aren’t to the death and they’re as teams and they’re not usually televised they’re more like high school sports games that are attended by scouts (here, they’re “sponsors”--I think that’s a canonical term but I honestly can’t remember) and if you get sponsored you leave your class and join a new “team” that’s really just a bunch of people who all have the same sponsorship. this is where things can get interesting because they’ve all been raised with slightly different fighting styles but more importantly, slightly different degrees of Personhood.

also at this point I should mention that by this time, there are usually only 2, maybe 3 of each model left. either they died or were recognized as not having talent so they were sent to eventually fulfill other roles in the network. in ‘star’s case there was just him and gaveedra-five. once you get to the stage where you’re sponsored and you’re actually fighting to the death one of the first people you’ll fight is any remaining members of your model group.

by the time you’re the only one left of your group, you’re also eligible to earn a stage name. this usually happens if you have a particularly epic fight with a lot of viewers, you win and the commentators will typically say something like “Let’s give this crowd a real name to cheer!” and they’ll have a few candidate names and they’ll kind of just pick one. AUGH I actually have this scene written out in story form but its too long so I think I’ll save it.... :)

after you get a name you also get a cool outfit and usually some kind of mark or tattoo that serves as a brand. this brings me to another important point--shatterstar inherited the X-gene from alison and therefore he IS a mutant. his mutation is the swords vibration thing and the glowing eye. the star mark is a tattoo and teleportation is benjamin russell’s mutation (how he fits into all this is... for another post). basically after he got his name the costuming department guys were like “hey your eye glows, you look like the Legendary Warrior of Old, Longshot, we’re gonna pattern your look after him” so they gave him the star tattoo and the outfit that’s literally inverse colors of longshot’s.

also this brings me to another aside: you’re probably wondering “if he’s the biological kid of longshot and alison how are there 8 gaveedras?” when the genetic engineers got a hold on him as a baby they were like Sick! free baby! free genetic material! thats our job done for us! so they cloned him (in the traditional sense) and made 7 copies. this was also to kind of conceal his identity as technically being from outside mojoworld, which would make him stick out and thus be a target. they DID edit out the x-gene in the other gaveedra models though. this wasn’t a problem for ‘star because his mutation didn’t manifest until he was already sponsored.

I think that’s .... pretty much it for macroscopic lore on what it was like to be a kid gladiator on mojoworld. now let me give you some Tidbits of his life specifically:

like I said he was raised in a particularly cold and ruthless class. the mentors that raised him are like well-known by everyone to produce some of the best warriors but also there’s discourse on mojoworld because some people say perfectly emotionless killing machines aren’t as fun to watch. when he was sponsored there were 4-5 others in the same sponsorship and they were like Theres Something Wrong With You LOL

they speak earth languages on mojoworld because they’re imitating the broadcasts they (the spineless ones) used to hear from earth. however, most of the lower-class as well as almost all arena fighters and other television personalities speak cadre or other languages which are native to the planet. the stage names are all vaguely in english, but the gladiators don’t really understand them at first.

shatterstar got his name before he got the glowing eye, and when he learned what stars are, and saw his eye as a little star, he was like wow :) this is Me :) which is why that name is so important to him. it’s also one of the first things that wholly belonged to him.

(you can’t see stars on mojoworld because of light pollution and also because it’s a pocket dimension and there just aren’t that many stars to see)

I hate to bring up the s**ley miniseries but I do think it would be interesting to have him have a sort of ... mentor/first friend, similar to the concept of gringrave but they were NOT in a relationship. it was more like... another kid who was a year or so older than him got a soft spot for him and helped him not be so clueless. she didn’t make as much progress as xforce did, obviously. but they were.... something like friends.

unfortunately she was used by spiral to get shatterstar to murder the first rebel guy who tried to get him out of there. then she got switched sponsors (this can happen) and he had to kill her, and he was like well I will simply never develop any kind of attachment to anyone ever again.

he almost didn’t make it out of the first training session with his sponsorship group (this is semi-canon--there’s a reference when he’s teaching terry to swordfight to almost not surviving the first time he was in a gladiator class or whatever it was).

the closest he ever came to losing was the day he got the name. that’s why the crowds loved it so much.

the double-bladed sword was a gimmick weapon but when he got his mutation they realized it works way better if there’s resonance between two parallel blades so they redesigned it as an actual weapon.

(forgot this but I feel like I should include it) at 17 he escaped the arenas and joined the cadre alliance. two years later he came to earth and joined xforce.

I think that’s going to have to be it for now because it’s literally almost midnight and I have work tomorrow and I did NOT intend to stay up this late but I did. thank you for this opportunity anon :) feel free to ask me any other questions and also I realize a lot of this probably makes no fucking sense and that’s because I am not a writer or anything I’m just a biochemist with brain problems that cause me to obsess over stupid shit

#answered #shatterstar #GHKDJFDKHGRJ I KNOW THERES SOMETHING WRONG W/ ME THAT THIS FEELS LIKE EXPOSING MY SOUL....#Anonymous #long post #NSCU #<-thats my new tag since other people have asked about this #it stands for nadine shatterstar cinematic universe

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that-was-anticlimactic · 4 years ago

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I was tagged by the lovely and wonderful @zukosaturtle-duck :) thank you, Ellen:)

1. name/nickname: Corey actually is my nickname! My full name is Corrina but when I first made an Instagram fan account in 2012, someone asked my name and sixth grade me panicked and said Corey! I’m sick of having my name mispronounced even after correcting them, so I like giving people options:) I’ve also had two teachers accidentally call me Corona in the past year so I guess that’s a nickname too lol

2. gender: female

3. star sign: Capricorn

4. height: so. I haven’t measured or weighed myself in literal years because I just didn’t ?? Last time I measured myself, I was 5’1 1/2, but I think I’m 5’2 now?? Maybe 5’2 1/2???? I should probably measure myself haha

5. time: 12:31pm

6. birthday: December 29th

7. favorite bands/groups: ... I listen to Broadway:) so I’ll just name my favorite musicals: Aladdin, A Chorus Line, Come From Away, and Starry:)

8. favorite solo artist: ummm again, I listen to mostly Broadway so umm I’ll just name some more musical I like: Dogfight, Finding Neverland, anything by Team Starkid, Into the Woods, The Lightning Thief:)

9. song stuck in my head: Love Thy Neighbor from The Prom

10. last movie: Legend of Everfree

11. last show: I’m actually currently rewatching Psych (like literally right now I’m watching the episode Shawn (and Gus) of the Dead as I type this). It’s, in my opinion, the best live action show out there.

12. when did i create this blog: imma be real— I don’t remember?? Either 2017 or 2018???

13. what do i post: my blog used to be Ninjago, but now it’s a mix of atla / lok, Ninjago, The Hollow, and pretty much any cartoon! I also reblog some musical stuff, friendly reminders, and just stuff I think is important! I do post fanfiction on occasion as well! Love reblogging art because I can’t draw for crap and seeing beautiful art is 🥺🥰

14. last thing i googled: “when is kiss of the spider woman set” I was on a face time with my internet friends last night and every night I practice trying to say all of the MLP episodes in a season (alternates by night) in order, so I did s5 and then my other friend was like “gimme a year and I bet I can name all of the Tony nominees for best musical every year” and we were double checking haha

15. other blogs: this is my only blog akbekejrj

16. do i get asks: sometimes! The majority of my asks have to do with Sokka with Tourette’s headcanons or anything with TS, and I love that:)

17. why did i choose this url: my favorite word is anticlimactic and one of the scenes that made me laugh the hardest in Ninjago is in s5 ep4 when Cole thinks the other three are playing a prank on him and they’re running after him and Jay screams “DON’T OPEN THAT DOOR” and then nothing happens and Kai just goes “... well that was anticlimactic” and it’s just my favorite thing ever and I’ve considered changing my url to zukkaclimactic but I love that line so much I’m wjevjebr

18. following: 253 (crap I should follow more people wksbejje)

19. followers: 434🥺 thanks for putting up with my crap, friends🥺

20. average hours of sleep: hahahhaha umm god question. not sure. terrible sleep schedule, just ask Grace lol

21. lucky number: 3! I just love odd numbers and years ago (like sixth grade again) my friend and I made a dumb little Ninjago number code for whatever reason and my favorite character was three and idk I’ve felt a “connection” with three ever since haha

22. instruments: I played alto saxophone in band for seven-eight years, three years in marching band and tenor sax one year in marching band and part of my junior / senior year of high school!

23. what am i wearing: lol haven’t left my bed yet today so pajama pants with cute little cartoon pigs on them and a black long sleeve shirt hahahha

24. dream job: well, I’m going to college for English education, so teaching high school English is absolutely a dream job, but my impossible dream job would be voice acting, Broadway (if I could I actually sing ugh), or I would like to write a cartoon television show (and also lowkey voice a character). I do actually love my major, though, and it is a dream job!

25. dream trip: DENMARK DENMARK DENAMRK DENMARK!!! I love Denmark. I’m literally attempting to learn Danish for fun because I love Denmark. I know three Danish sign language words (I’m also almost fluent in asl but this is Danish sign language I—) but um ahem aside from Denmark, any trip where I meet my internet friends

26. favorite food: ngl I really like tomatoes. I eat whole tomatoes like apples a lot. Fantastic.

27. nationality: american

28. favorite song: my favorite song will always be High Adventure from Aladdin. That song is so important to me for reasons I won’t get into right now because this is long enough as it is, but that will always be my favorite song.

29. last book read: hmm I think the last book I read was fanfiction uhh but I am currently reading The Color Purple!

30. 3 fictional universes you’d like to live in: bro. Bro. Can I just live in a fictional universe. How must I choose only three ??? Umm Equestria from MLP, there’s just something so magical and powerful about the world from Kipo and the Age of Wonderbeasts and maybe it’s the fact that in the end humans and mutes live on the surface together so that’s my number two, and uhhh the world in Land of Stories like the book world.

Oh boy the hardest part: tagging people who haven’t been tagged yet. Umm @evelinaonline (I know you aren’t on tumblr as much, but friendship is magic haha), @tikmasjiens , @dnd-beyond (my fellow starkid fan), @rainydaysammy , and @canyourscienceexplainthis (feel free to not do this if you don’t want to! There’s no pressure to do it!)

#tag game #ellen I love you #thank you for the means to procrastinate #and rant about musicals lol

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tigerkirby215 · 4 years ago

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5e Akali, the Rogue Assassin build (League of Legends)

(Artwork by Jessica “OwleyCat” Oyhenart. Made for Riot Games)

(Shit meme by yours truly.)

I mean honestly it’s about time I go around to this. With the year nearing its end (thank fuck) here’s a build I had planned pretty much since the Soulknife subclass was shown. Yeah spoilers I guess Akali’s a Soulknife Rogue because she throws a shit load of knives. No she isn’t an assassin, despite the name of “Rogue Assassin.”

GOALS

You can never have too many kunai - We need a hell a lotta kunai and shurikens to throw at our enemies. Remember that part where I said “Akali’s a Soulknife Rogue?”

Smoked 'em - We’ll need to be able to turn invisible and stay invisible while still being able to hit our foes.

Quick and deadly - You’re quick and deadly like a ninja, with dashes over and around just about everything and swift executions. Almost like you are a ninja.

RACE

Akali is a human, no matter how much training in stealth, spirits, and singing she has. She is however from the magic land of Ionia filled with magic people, and since she probably got some spiritual training from Shen I figured that’s good enough justification for me to grab a Dragonmark! A Mark of Passage Human gets a +2 to Dexterity and a +1 to another ability score: we’ll go for Charisma for K-Pop stans. You can also learn a language of your choice and Sylvan makes sense to speak to the spirits.

You have a Courier's Speed for +5 feet of movement and can add a d4 to Acrobatics or motorcycle land vehicle checks thanks to Intuitive Motion. But the main feature of note is Magical Passage for Misty Step in your pocket once per Long Rest. You know me: gotta have Flash available.

If Dragonmarks aren’t an option: Variant Human with +1 to DEX and +1 to CHA is good enough. Take the Mobile feat at level 1 instead of later in the build, and perhaps invest in Fey Touched or something when the time comes for that feat I don’t know.

ABILITY SCORES

15; DEXTERITY - You run and jump around and throw a lot of knives. Almost like a ninja.

14; CONSTITUTION - Be it Gunblade or Riftmaker, Akali is deceptively survivable. That and even ability scores are nice.

13; CHARISMA - Charisma is tied to performance for Korean raps in whatever band you joined this time. Look I’m not saying I want Akali in Pentakill but...

12; WISDOM - Shen tries to teach you a lot of Wisdom and I’m sure at least some of it got through to you.

10; STRENGTH - ‘Kali got abs. Being a ninja requires 100 push ups, 100 sit ups, and a 10 kilometer run every single day.

8; INTELLIGENCE - Ninjas don’t normally have a good math and science program. The answer to how many kunai you brought is “yes.”

BACKGROUND

While you may have once been part of the Kinkou Order you have since decided to go rogue. When you’re part of a ninja organization killing people is cool, but if you do it on your own you’re just a Criminal. You get proficiency in Stealth but I’m going to suggest replacing your Deception proficiency with Arcana for some teachings thanks to Master Shen. You also get proficiency in Thieves’ Tools (though if you want to min-max I’d perhaps swap this out for something out) but I’m going to suggest replacing your gaming set with a Disguise Kit, because my lord Akali has a lot of skins.

Be it your old connections from the Kinkou Order or a new informant for assassination contracts you have a Criminal Contact that can easily supply info, and who you always have a direct line to. They send the target, you get the kill.

(Artwork by Alvin Lee, Pan Chengwei, and Bo “chenbowow” Chen. Artwork made for Riot Games.)

THE BUILD

LEVEL 1 - ROGUE 1

wOw ThE cHaRaCtEr WiTh “RoGuE” iN tHeIr NaMe Is A RoGuE?!?! Blatantly obvious information aside Rogues get proficiency in four different skills! Take proficiency in Acrobatics for ninja stuff, Perception for warding, Intimidation to scare little Noxian kids (hey ninjas are scary!), and Performance for Korean raps.

You also get Expertise in two of those skills: naturally you need Stealth to be a ninja and Performance to be K-Pop artist, so take expertise in both of those. You also know the secret code language of Thieves’ Cant, which only other ninjas (or just regular old Rogues) know.

But of course you can’t be a ninja without knowing how to Sneak Attack. If you attack an enemy that’s distracted by an ally or have advantage to hit a weak point, you do an extra d6 of damage. Don’t worry: your assassination potential only gets better with time.

LEVEL 2 - ROGUE 2

Second level Rogues get Cunning Action for some ninja speed. You can now spend a Bonus Action to Dash, Disengage, or Hide.

LEVEL 3 - ROGUE 3

Yeah spoilers I guess Akali’s a Soulknife Rogue because she throws a shit load of knives. No she isn’t an assassin, despite the name of “Rogue Assassin.”

3rd level Rogues get to choose their Roguish Archetype and Akali is a Soulknife because it turns out psionics is the fastest way to get a shit load of throwing knives thanks to Psychic Blades. When you take the Attack action you can make a psychic knife in your hand that does a d6 of Psychic damage, and you can either use it to stab in melee range or throw it up to 60 feet.

If you attack with the blade you can make a smaller blade to attack with as a bonus action. The damage die of this bonus attack is 1d4 (instead of a d6) but other than that it pretty much works the same. The Psychic Blades vanish immediately after hitting or missing, and they leave no mark on their target, which is just a nice little bit of ninja flavor.

You also have innate Psionic Power which... takes a bit more to explain that “funny psychic throwing knife.” You have Psionic Energy die equal to twice your proficiency bonus, and you can use them on the following abilities:

Psi-Bolstered Knack lets you boost your skill checks with legally-not-Bardic Inspiration, as long as you’re proficient in the skill.

Psychic Whispers lets you coordinate in team chat and set up ganks.

I’m not going to go too deep into these abilities because they’re listed in the subclass and if you don’t know what the subclass does buy Tasha’s Cauldron of Everything and read it yourself. “See? Balance.” And speaking of balance your Sneak Attack damage now increases to 2d6!

LEVEL 4 - ROGUE 4

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4th level Rogues get an Ability Score Improvement but because it’s the 4th level in a Rogue build we’ll instead be taking the Mobile feat. Along with a 10 foot increase to your movement speed you can also cross over difficult terrain (cough walls cough) without spending extra movement if you Dash. But most importantly if you attack an enemy in melee range you can run away from them without provoking an attack of opportunity, even if you miss!

Yup XP to Level 3′s meme explains it better than I can. Sneak attack and run away: keep to the shadows and never stand still.

(Artwork by Jennifer Wuestling. Made for Riot Games.)

LEVEL 5 - WARLOCK 1

What? Did you think that we’d be going for pure Rogue levels? Ha ha Warlock levels go brrrrr. Regardless a connection to the Spirit Realm manifests as powers of the Archfey, such as Fey Presence to Charm or Frighten anyone within a 10 foot cube with an epic rap battle.

And you also get Pact Magic, which comes back on a Short Rest! You get two cantrips at first level: For a Shuriken that inflicts Deep Wounds on those who idolize Eldritch Blast take Chill Touch, because a ninja should always have the right tool for the job. For some ninja trickery grab Minor Illusion to manipulate the shadows to your whim.

For your leveled spells Hex will cripple your foes to make it harder for them to run while also making your strikes deadlier, and uhhh... that’s about it, really? I mean, Sleep from the Archfey list is pretty nice for a sleep bomb but you really don’t need it. We’ll be holding off on leveled spells for a bit.

LEVEL 6 - WARLOCK 2

Second level Warlocks get Eldritch Invocations... hey wouldn’t it be funny if we just didn’t take invocations? I mean, feel free to grab some basic stuff like Armor of Shadows or Devil’s Sight for a time, but again we’re going to want to wait for...

LEVEL 7 - WARLOCK 3

Third level Warlocks get their Pact Boon and while you may never have gone to an official school you were sure to keep all the teachings of Master Shen in a tome. A Book of Shadows from the Pact of the Tome to be precise!

While Pact of the Blade would probably make more sense I’m pretty sure you can’t make your Psychic Blades into Pact weapons. That, and we need a multitude of features from Pact of the Tome more.

Picking up the Pact of the Tome will let you learn 3 cantrips from any class’ spell list. For a quality assurance guarantee on your skill checks take Guidance for that extra boost you need. For some natural Ionian magic Druidcraft will let you feel the spirit in the earth and the trees. And I know there are some spells I seem to stick into every build but yeah: Message is still good even if you have telepathy, for some silent resourceless communication between allies.

Oh and remember how we took no invocations last level? That’s because we’re going to be grabbing both Aspect of the Moon to confuse Diana mains as well as remain alert through the night without needing to sleep, and Book of Ancient Secrets to have some ninja tricks you can prepare over 10 minutes by Ritual Casting. I’d suggest Alarm and Comprehend Languages as the most in-character options but you can get more ritual spells by picking them up and inscribing them into your book (with some really damn expensive ink.)

You can also finally go and pick up those spells that I’ve been ignoring! Darkness is good for a magic smoke bomb (as long as you’re okay with blinding yourself and your allies too) and while perhaps not the most in-character Mirror Image is a damn good spell to up your survivability. And while we may already have Flash once per long rest I won’t ever complain about more Misty Step.

LEVEL 8 - WARLOCK 4

4th level Warlocks get an Ability Score Improvement: time for hee-hoo Athlete Feat that I take whenever I want a +1 in DEX but don’t know what to do. But believe it or not there’s actually a reason for it this time: Akali is an athlete, and you need to be able to perform feats of acrobatics like a ninja. Because again: you are a ninja.

You also get another spell along with another cantrip: for your cantrip Mage Hand will let you do a little bit of spirit-jitsu to reach the kimchi on the top shelf. As for your spell Pass without Trace was added in the Tasha’s extended spell list but you don’t really need it. Your friends might but for the most part I’d again suggest waiting for next level.

(Artwork by Zeen Chin. Made for Riot Games.)

LEVEL 9 - WARLOCK 5

5th level Warlocks get another Eldritch Invocation and to be sneaky like a ninja One With Shadows will let you turn invisible if you stand still in the dark. Alternatively (if you think Stealth Expertise will carry you) you can take Far Scribe for some more secret shadow messages.

You can also learn third level spells like Blink for a slightly unreliable Smoke Cloud that’ll shroud you randomly, or Fear because ninjas are scary.

LEVEL 10 - WARLOCK 6

6th level Fey Warlocks get Misty Escape. As a reaction when you’re hit you can drop a smoke bomb to turn invisible and then teleport up to 60 feet. You remain invisible until the start of your next turn unless you attack or cast a spell, and can use this feature once per short or long rest.

You can also prepare another spell and for a ninja flashbang grab Hypnotic Pattern to daze everyone in a 30 foot cube. What? Ninjas can use flashbangs.

LEVEL 11 - WARLOCK 7

7th level Warlocks get another Eldritch Invocation and we can finally run across the universe to whoever we marked with our shuriken. Or at least 30 feet closer. Relentless Hex lets you teleport up to 30 feet and arrive within 5 feet of an enemy you have Hexed, as long as you can see them. While you can dash for this distance or Flash (Misty Step) this will let you get past any difficult terrain or obstacles with ease.

We can also finally get what we came for: a smoke cloud we can attack from while still being invisible. Take Greater Invisibility for invisibility that remains even after you attack. Yes this does mean as a Rogue you’ll have Advantage on all your attacks (to Sneak Attack), and yes the aesthetic of stabbing people with psychic knives that leave no mark while you yourself are invisible is freaking nuts. There are other 4th level spells you can take (Dimension Door and Shadow of Moil being two worth mention) but your other spells are still good. It’s up to you what you do as again I only own the build, not your character.

(Artwork by Alvin Lee. Made for Riot Games.)

LEVEL 12 - ROGUE 5

At long last we’re going back to Rogue! 5th level Rogues can use their reaction for an Uncanny Dodge to take half damage from an attack. Remember that you only have one reaction per round, and this is the same reaction that you need to use for Misty Escape. So decide if disappearing but taking full damage is more valuable than taking half damage.

Your Sneak Attack also increases to 3d6, and you know those Psionic Energy die of yours? Well they’re now d8s! Finally!

LEVEL 13 - ROGUE 6

6th level Rogues get Expertise in two more skills. Acrobatics is an obvious must but I’ll leave the other skill up to you! Make your own build, even if it’ll probably include Riftmaker. (But when in doubt I opted for Perception personally.)

LEVEL 14 - ROGUE 7

7th level Rogues become masters of dodging skill shots thank to Evasion. If you make a Dexterity save and succeed, you take no damage. If you fail the save, you only take half damage! Additionally your Sneak Attack is now 4d6.

(Artwork by Pyeongjun Park. Made for Riot Games.)

LEVEL 15 - ROGUE 8

8th level Rogues get another Ability Score Improvement. Hey about we cap that Dexterity score which has been sitting at an 18 for the past 6 levels? Deadliest knives, most agile of dodges, and BADDEST of dance moves. (Wait no that’s Charisma.)

LEVEL 16 - ROGUE 9

9th level Soul Knife Rogues can improve their weapons to Soul Blades, giving a few new uses to your Psionic Talent die. Homing Strikes will let you add your talent die to a missed attack, potentially allowing you to hit. If the talent die causes your attack to hit, you spend it.

Psychic Teleportation on the other hand will let you roll a Psionic Talent die as a bonus action to teleport an unoccupied space you can see, up to a number of feet away equal to 10 times the number rolled. This feature spends the die no matter how far you teleport. And finally your Sneak Attack increase to 5d6.

LEVEL 17 - ROGUE 10

The nice thing about Rogues is that they get more Ability Score Improvements. For MORE dancing increase your Charisma to show them what you’re made of. I’ll keep making jokes about K/DA don’t worry.

(Artwork by Atey Ghailan. Made for Riot Games.)

LEVEL 18 - ROGUE 11

11th level Rogues get Reliable Talent to turn any roll of 9 or lower on a skill check you’re proficient in to a 10. As per standard whenever I hit 11 in a Rogue build I like to make a list of your lowest possible roll so...

27 on Stealth or Acrobatics

25 on Performance

19 on Intimidation

17 on Perception

15 on Arcana

With results varying based on your choice of Expertise, of course. And if somehow that isn’t enough to make a skill check, your Psionic Talent die increases to a d10 along with your 6d6 Sneak Attack!

LEVEL 19 - ROGUE 12

Hey more Ability Score Improvements! That means you can nearly max out your Charisma just before level 20!

LEVEL 20 - ROGUE 13

13th level Soul Knife Rogues get the ultimate stealth tool: the Psychic Veil. As an action you become invisible for 1 hour unless you dismiss this effect (no action required). You remain invisible unless you deal damage to a creature or you force a creature to make a saving throw. You can use this feature once for free per Long Rest, and have to spend a Psionic Energy die to use it again.

Now some might say this is a weak ability since you have Greater Invisibility, but that spell only lasts a minute. This ability is far more useful for infiltration and out-of-combat uses, as with a full hour of being unseen you should be able to get into most places that you shouldn’t be. But if you think “a second level spell extended to 1 hour” isn’t a good capstone just remember that your Sneak Attack does increase to 7d6. And that... you know... You could just go Rogue 12 / Warlock 8 if you don’t like the level 13 ability.

FINAL BUILD

PROS

They can't stop me. I mean, they can try - 45 feet of movement with the ability to dash and teleport, with Athlete helping you scale up walls and Mobile making difficult terrain a non-issue. And yeah the Mobile feat in general makes you incredibly slippery.

I make problems... disappear - Who could’ve guessed that a permanently invisible Rogue would be dangerous? With a dozen tools to play keep-away you can easily be in multiple places at once and make your enemies unable to know where to strike.

I'll make this look like magic - You’ve got a nice bit of utility too with some great skill checks (boosted by your Psionic talent!) along with a ton of cantrips and the ability to learn any ritual spell you may find.

CONS

There are over 300 pressure points on the human body - You have a lot of features that are more for flavor than actual practicality, notably Relentless Hex which uhhhh... just Dash? You also have abilities which aren’t that strong, like weak Warlock spells we didn’t swap out (feel free to do that yourself) and Psychic Veil generally being a mediocre ability. (Nothing you can do to fix that.)

I was just warming up - Your stats aren’t awful but also aren’t fantastic... well except for your Intelligence: that’s pretty bad. And without any saving throw proficiency and a surprisingly limited amount of skills for a Rogue you really won’t be helpful outside of your area of expertise.

You don't get back what I take - Almost all your class features run on limited resources. Most of your Rogue abilities rely on your Psionic Talent die, and while you may have a lot you can only get one per Short Rest. Similarly you only have two Warlock slots, which even if they come back at the end of a Short Rest it leaves a lot to be desired. Frequent tea breaks are nice and all but you can quickly exhaust yourself without breaks.

But you are quick, silent, and deadly. All the skills of a ninja in one package. Dive in, make a clean cut, and get out before they know what hit ‘em. Akali’s that girl. 'Kali go grr. 'Kali don't stop. 'Kali don't skrrt. True Damage we do it, and maybe if you perform well enough you can get into Pentakill too. Look I’m not saying I want Akali to be in every band that Riot makes, but Pentakill Akali would be equally cool and hilarious.

(Artist unknown. Made for Riot Games.)

#dnd #dnd build #dnd guide #League of Legends #League of Legends Akali #dnd rogue #K/DA #k/da akali #kali go brrr #ninja #psychic ninja

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queerchoicesblog · 5 years ago

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Living The Dream

So, folks: as announced, here the first chapter of a new story for the wlw writing project I embarked on. This one is set in the Sixties, the golden age of travel, and our main character is a Pan Am stewardess, one of the era’s most stylish job. I had fun writing this and I can only hope you will have too reading this!

Hope you enjoy it: if you do, please consider spreading the word!

__________________________

I like this time of the day. The in-between hours separating one day from another, the slow yet inexorable metamorphosis of night into dawn. Life seems to flow differently during these hours as if our bodies, used to be heavenly asleep when night comes, were forced to adapt to a new rhythm: sometimes it works, sometimes it's simply a poor mimicry of ourselves. The craziest scene happen during night shifts, after all, and I'm sure it's no coincidence. I'm not always lucky to be present to myself in moments like these. Most of the times I'm too busy to pay attention to the wonders of these dreamlike hours. I blow out the smoke of my cigarette: for once, I can. Sitting at a table on the cafe terrace, I look down to the stream of passengers moving beneath me. They wander like in a haze trying to make out the right direction to go. They're tired, jet-lagged: a kid is crying his heart out in the arms of his mother, causing a businessman nearby to sneer and speed up his pace to avoid such nuisance. A man is anxious, out of the blue he starts running probably cursing the little delay that slowed him: will he catch his flight? A group of foreigners is checking and double checking a map, someone is sleeping on a bench and a little girl is looking out into the night sky hypnotised by the tail lights of a plane flying away.

I like airports, their peculiar poetry. It's quite lucky since you could say they're my home. I still struggle to fully convince myself that yes, my dream did come true. Some nights I fear I'd wake up one day and find out it was all just that, a wild feverish dream, not my reality. Luckily, that day never comes. Mom and Dad fry eggs and bacon in a diner not far from Kansas City; my brother and I will always remember how tired they looked when they crawled back home but also how big their smile was when they produced a box of fries or a couple of milkshakes just for us. We both helped during the summer, wearing aprons and serving tables. They let us keep the tips and we spent them all in ice-creams and movies. Now I'm sure no costumer leaves without being told - maybe more than once and with great pride - that their daughter is now a stewardess of the Pan American World Airways. I still remember the day I received the good news: Mom cried tears of joy and even Noah dropped his tough act and pulled me into a tight hug, whispering how happy he was for me. My sweet little brother. Now at my parents' diner a picture is hung at the wall side by side with a framed stellar review by a local newspaper: Noah and I hugging each other and smiling to the camera in our favorite booth by the window. I'm wearing my dashing Pan Am uniform, he's in a brand new US marine attire. He was drafted one week after John F. Kennedy was shot, the picture was taken on our last family reunion around Christmas. Noah wasn't happy to go to war, he was scared. "I wish I could join you to New York and find a job in advertising maybe" he frowned when my parents were sleeping and we sneaked away to the back porch as we used to do as kids. Noah was good at drawing, the creative type. God knows how I would have loved to have him around, to keep me grounded and remind me of the reassuring warmth of sibling affection. To keep him safe. I moved to New York right after I got the job; Noah was still in high school back then, I had to go alone. They all promised to visit as soon as they could when we parted at the airport. And that's when my new life started. I was on my own in the big city, breathing in the wind of change. I wonder if that's how every girl feels when they leave their boring provincial town behind and make it big. I moved into a small flat downtown: not much, but big enough to contain all my hopes and dreams. The training supervisors were particularly strict and took so very seriously their duty to asses whether we were stewardess material or a lost cause. First, a medical evaluation then a grumpy lady would weigh us and fix our girdles: I wondered if I would have been able to breathe normally on a plane and I was not the only one by the look on the other girls' faces. The interminable daily classes on how to strip our face clean of makeup and start from scratch still haunts me just like the day I was told my hair weren't okay, an in-between length that didn't impress the ladies in charge: I had to choose between wearing a chignon or a wig. No way I would have gone for the latter! Our appearance had to conform to a certain code and I soon learned there are so many requirements to meet to be eye candy. But it wasn't all about our exterior, even if we were often reminded that our aim was to look runaway ready. The Pan Am stewardesses must have that savour faire that makes them unique, legendary. So aside from the standard training (what to say on board, what to do in case of emergency, first aid classes) I had to learn how to pour wine with that special twist of the wrist and pop champagne open without it exploding as well as how to cook and elegantly garnish certain menu dishes in no space. And I assure you, the standard for scrambled eggs in first class were so different from everything I had learnt at my parents' diner, even if the time I spent there gave me a head start. Once I completed my training, my career finally began. I was assigned to Us bi-coastal routes for the time being but I felt different already. People looked at me differently, especially when I walked through the Pan Am terminal in white gloves and my uniform designed by Italian stylists. The gleam of admiration and wonder in their eyes set my heart on fire: aside from my parents and Noah, nobody had ever looked at me that way before, not even my best friend. I take a sip of coffee and smile thinking back at my beginnings. Despite the hard work, I was constantly in a dreamy state of mind. A Pan Am stewardess made it to the cover of LIFE that year, I still have a copy of it. The journalist enthusiastically claimed that girls like me were not only icons of beauty and grace but also the peak of the femininity to come. "See these ladies? They're not just stewardesses, they're a whole new breed of women". I must admit that to some extent we are: we're so different from our mothers and the Angels of the hearth of the lady magazines. We wear heels and fine makeup, we speak several languages and see the world. We're emancipated and sophisticated: we are women of the world. My face didn't make it to LIFE but little girls and teens stop me and ask me tips, how can they be as elegant, as put together, what they have to do to land this job. They want to live the same dream. A little girl of five once asked if she could take a picture with me. I had some time left so I squatted down and placed my bowler hat on her head making her flash the brightest smile to the camera her father was holding. Before parting she handed me my hat and looked me right in the eye, whispering in awe "I wanna be like you when I grow up". And then she wrapped her arms around my neck in a grateful hug. I told the cute scene to my mother over the phone: she sounded touched and joked that she didn't know her daughter ended up being a starlet of the silver screen. "Remember us when you're famous, love" Dad added from another room. I missed them, I still do at times. But I would never go back: for the first time in my life I found a place where I truly belong here in New York. I met friends that could understand my hunger for more, to discover the world. I love the parks and lights at night, the buzz of the city that never sleeps. Most importantly, I love my job, even when I'm so busy all I do is hopping on and off planes, going back home, sleeping eating my breakfast and doing it all over again. No matter how hard I need to push myself to meet the Pan Am standards, I've always felt liberated, free here. As if this was what was meant to be, where I was meant to be all along. The day a gorgeous neighbor knocked at my door with a plate of freshly baked cookies and a charming, flirtatious smile on her lips, I had no more doubt. Here is where I was meant to be.

#wlw writing #wlw writing project #original work #wlw miniseries #lgbtq #sixties

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yeenybeanies · 5 years ago

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The Coliseum

i got this ask a bit ago & got to thinkin that i kinda dig this concept. so here we are! this isn’t set in ancient roman gladiator times ( tho that could be a cool story for another time :eyes: ) but set in modern, albeit more fantasy-like times i tweaked the prompt, but thanks for sending it in anon!!

ocs | abraham sun & grant summers

2,432 words

language warning; mild mentions of blood & violence

likes < reblogs!! feel free to leave comments in the tags!! thanks!!

He's survived another day. Breath heavy, the giant collapses, knees slamming painfully onto the concrete floors of his cell. Steel cuffs and chains weigh down his arms, which hang limply at his sides. Everything hurts. Every muscle is sore. New cuts sting along his skin. His side in particular burns. That last blow he took feels like it might have cracked a rib. It hurts to breathe.

God, he’s hungry . . .. How many days has it been since his last meal? He can’t really remember. It was at least . . . four fights ago, but that’s no way to track time.

How long has he been in this cage? This coliseum? The giant bows his head and sighs, eyes falling closed. The adrenaline rush is coming to an end, and the pain buffer along with it. It’s not the worst pain he’s felt since coming here, though. He should be able to sleep through it. Already he feels himself starting to fall forward, body ready to curl into a ball on the concrete floor and try to get some rest.

The chains rattle, giving him only a moment’s notice before they’re yanked back through the holes in the wall, pulling his arms along with them. He grits his teeth and grunts as he’s hoisted up, arms spread and body left to hang so he’s just barely able to stay on his knees. The giant looks to his restraints, to how the cruel metal presses into his skin, then turns his gaze to the cell door opposite of him.

Being held up like this usually means he’s being fed, or he’s being taken out and transported to the fighting ring. God, he prays for the former, though it wouldn’t be the first time he was forced to fight twice in one day . . ..

Even bound and gagged, the young man still fights, struggling with the two other, older men dragging him through the concrete corridors. Despite the cloth in his mouth, he still tries to shout and holler. He even tries to bite one of the men, but he can neither reach far enough, nor can he close his teeth around the fabric. It doesn’t stop him from trying, though. He is nothing if not a fighter.

“ Christ, ” the left man––the one he tried to bite––groans, “ this one’s feisty enough to throw out in the ring! Might last more n’ two seconds, eh? ” His thick accent, some ugly, English-sounding prick, is difficult to understand.

“ Could be fun. ‘nfortunately, he’s got another destiny ahead, ” says the right man. The boy glares up at the both of them. He can’t see their faces beyond the masks they wear, but he doesn’t recognize their voices. They’re just common thugs––grunts and henchmen. That doesn’t make him hate them any less, though. Whatever they plan to do with him, he doesn’t intend to make it easy for them. He digs his heels into the floor, but it only slows their pace for a moment. The left man snorts, hits him with a sharp uppercut to the diaphragm, and shoves him along while he coughs and holds back his tears.

The young man’s only just regained his breath when the men force him to turn, the three of them now facing a large, metal gate. The bars are thick. It’s a door, he realizes. It’s a large sliding door––a cell. And beyond the bars, held back up against the wall . . ..

Aw, and he’d just started to breathe normally again! But the sight before him makes the boy gasp, a new fear awake within him. The two men laugh and guffaw and make horrible noises, both holding onto the boy’s arms as he tries to kick and shove and break free. The left man gives him another punch to the gut, this one eliciting a sickening groan from him, and incapacitating him long enough for the right to type in the door code. It slides aside, clicking like any prison cell door would. The left man shoves the boy in with another ugly laugh, and the door closes behind him. Still cringing, the boy can only curl in on himself, helpless, and now trapped in a cage with a monster.

“ Enjoy your dinner, beastie, ” one of the men yells. He can’t quite tell which one; they both sound the same. One word hits him hard, though––just as hard as both punches, and just as capable of stealing his breath: dinner.

The two voices echo and start to fade. Slowly, still shaking, the boy pushes himself to sit, eyes wide and staring up at the . . .––at the giant man. The giant, blood-covered man.

And he’s dinner.

Confusion strikes the giant when the three figures stop at his door. Usually ten or more men come when he’s being taken out, and usually it’s only one man with a wheelbarrow that brings food. It’s never three people. The door’s opening doesn’t clear anything up either. Guards are a common sight in this hell hole, but the third one between them––that’s no guard. That’s . . . well, he looks like he’s just a normal human, snatched from the outside, much like the giant was. He grimaces as the stranger is struck and shoved in, but remains very much lost as the door closes again.

“ Enjoy your dinner, beastie. ”

What? No. The giant furrows his brows and looks to the stranger, and then to the retreating guards. No. This has to be some sort of sick joke. It takes him several seconds to process this event, and several more to react. By the time the stranger’s seemingly caught some of his bearings, the giant finds his words again.

“ I don’t––hello? ” He calls out, though he suspects it won’t do him any good. Still, he tries. “ Giants don’t eat people! Hey! ”

Silence. Of course. This is a sick joke. This whole thing is a sick joke. Giants and other creatures being captured and imprisoned and forced to fight in a gladiatorial ring? That’s a sick joke. This honestly shouldn’t be so shocking, but the giant is revolted all the same.

A whimper draws his attention back down to the stranger. Now that he’s looking up at him, the giant can better see his features. It strikes him that this stranger is a kid. He can’t be more than seventeen, eighteen years old! Oh, if he had anything in him right now, the giant would hurl in disgust. Instead, he can only sigh and stare back at him. The poor creature’s terrified of him. He doesn’t blame him. Fellow giants might be startled by his appearance; he can only imagine how a human feels seeing a fifty-foot-tall man covered in viscera.

“ Take out your gag, ” he says finally. The boy doesn’t move. The giant opens his mouth to repeat it, but his chains suddenly go slack and pour from the walls, letting him fall heavily to his hands and knees with a grunt. That gets the boy moving, gets him scooting away desperately, as best he can with his arms bound.

“ Ow. Easy, kid . . .. “ the giant croaks. He looks up to see him with his back against the cell bars. He could still reach him, now that his chains are loosened, but he doesn’t make any movements towards him. No need to frighten him more. Instead, the giant leans back onto his feet and rests his hands in his lap, keeping them visible.

“ I’m not going to hurt you. Like I said: giants don’t eat people. Humans included. ” It’s an annoying misconception that the giant had faced even before this dreadful place. “ Your gag, kid, ” he says again, nodding his head towards the boy. It still takes him a few more moments to snap out of his stupor, but, once he does, he yanks at the gag and pulls it off over his head. Red lines run along his cheeks where the cloth had been digging into his skin. He stares up at the giant, still wordless. The giant assumes from all the gawking that the boy has never seen a giant before, or never been this close. Their kind don’t tend to interact too often.

“ Got a name? ” It’s weird to speak. It’s weird to think that it’s weird to speak. That must mean that the giant has been here for longer than he thought. The only times he’d speak prior to now was when he’d shout and demand to be released, or yell in the ring. He’d run his voice ragged from all the noise he’d make, but still he cannot recall a single conversation he’s had with anyone here.

The boy is still quiet, still gawking up at him. He sighs and leans his head back, eyes closing. He’s so hungry . . .. Echoing his thoughts, his stomach growls rather noisily, but the giant has learned to ignore it. The boy, however, not so much. His soft gasp draws the giant’s attention back to him.

“ I’m not going to do it. Promise. ” He doesn’t expect it to mean much to the boy, but he promises himself too. No matter how hungry he gets, he will not eat another person. “ My name’s Abraham. I’m . . . really sorry you got drawn into this. If you can, you should try to find a way to escape. Probably easier for someone your size. ”

Of all the things the boy expected to happen to him, being fed to a giant was not on the list. It wasn’t even within the realm of possibility. Yet, here he is, trapped in a cell with a giant. Oh, he’s a mean-looking one too. His bare torso is covered in scars and scabs and even a few open wounds––and blood. His eyes, though––the way they stare back into the boy––they don’t quite match the rest of the picture. The giant’s eyes look confused, concerned, sad. And his voice––once he’s stopped yelling at the guards and started talking directly to the boy, his voice is soft, like he’s actively trying not to scare him.

He still does scare him, but the fact that he’s ( presumably ) trying not to is . . . something. It provides some small comfort––about as small as the boy feels next to this massive being right now.

That growl, though––that growl coming from the giant’s stomach––dashes that modicum of comfort. He can’t help the gasp that leaves his now-freed mouth, though he immediately covers it with his hands.

Promises, promises.

Hell yeah, he should try to escape! The boy glances around the cell, seeing nothing but . . . cement. Cement walls and steel bars. There’s not even a proper bed in this thing. There’s only a flimsy blanket on one side and a hole in the floor on the other. The cell itself is too small for the giant; it doesn’t look like he wouldn’t be able to stretch his arms out fully in any direction, even without the chains. It’s a concrete box, is what it is, not fit for animals, let alone people, giant or not. With the giant in here, though, it feels all the more suffocating. No matter where the boy moves, he still looms over him.

That does raise another point of interest, though: if the giant really were intending to eat him ( at least right now ), well, he’s plenty capable of grabbing the boy. There is nowhere in this cell that he could go where he would be out of the giant’s reach now that his chains are loosened.

Maybe this giant––Abraham ( kinda unexpected that a giant has a human name, though when was the last time someone named their kid Abraham? )––really doesn’t intend to eat him. For now.

The sense of danger isn’t gone, but it’s lessened enough for the boy to take his eyes off of Abraham for more than a moment. He turns his attention to the rope still binding his wrists together. It’s tight and uncomfortable, both in how it forces him to hold his arms, and in how it digs into his skin.

“ Want me to get that for you? ” Fuck. That voice is soft, but the presence is still overwhelming. The boy tightens his jaw. Of course not. He doesn’t want the giant to be anywhere near him! But that’s . . . unavoidable. No matter how either of them move, so long as they are both in this cell, he is going to be uncomfortably close to the giant.

Slowly, tentatively, the boy lifts his arms, offering his bound wrists to the giant. Abraham momentarily looks surprised, like he hadn’t expected the boy to agree ( and he is, truthfully, just as surprised at his own cooperation ), but he says nothing. He reaches his massive hands forward––fuck. The boy flinches back.

“ It’s okay, ” Abraham says. “ Take your time. I know you’re scared. ”

Fuck! He doesn’t like hearing it! It’s true––completely and entirely true––but the boy wrinkles his nose regardless. He takes a breath to steady himself, and tries again, lifting his arms to the giant. This time, though, he squeezes his eyes shut and keeps his head turned away, sparing himself from the frightening image of Abraham’s hands coming towards him. It has . . . relative success in easing him. He still flinches when he feels those big fingers brush his sleeves, when he feels them poke and prod and tug at the ropes, and snap them off like they’re cobwebs.

The relief is instantaneous, though. The boy releases his held breath and pulls his arms back, rubbing at his wrists. His skin is bruised with ligature marks, but overall it feels much better to have his mobility back.

“ Thanks . . . ” the boy mumbles, still not looking up at the giant. “ It’s, uh . . . it’s Grant. ”

“ I’m sorry? ” Geez. He’s going to have to get used to the giant speaking. There’s still something unnerving about a voice coming from so high up, yet still being so close.

“ My name. It’s Grant. ”

“ Ah. Okay. How old are you, Grant? “

Again, Grant crinkles his nose. What’s it to the giant? “ ‘m not a kid. ”

The giant huffs. It’s dry, almost a laugh. “ You look young enough to be my kid, kid. ”

Grant returns the huff, indignant. Topic change. “ Where are we? Why are you here? ”

Abraham’s expression falters. Any sliver of humor he’d had is gone just as quickly as it came. He breathes a heavy sigh and looks up to the ceiling, too low for him to stand up in.

“ You’re in an underground coliseum. Most people brought here are forced to fight. It’s kill or be killed. ” His head falls. “ They kidnapped me and made me a modern day gladiator. And you, apparently, have been reduced to food. ”

#g/t #g/t writing #g/t fiction #hyena writes #hyena ocs #abraham sun #grant summers #do i intend to continue this? who knows

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thirsty-x1 · 5 years ago

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Work For It | Lee Hangyul

Request:

okay, since I have a mommy kink, can you write something about Hangyul being a broke college student and asks you for help? And then he’s kinda submissive to you sksksk idk tho please do face sitting and sub!hangyul please

↬ Pairing: Sub!Hangyul x domfem!reader.

↬ Genre: Smut.

↬ Warnings: explicit language, mommy kink, slight bondage, hair pulling, oral sex, masturbation, cum play, unprotected sex.

↬ Word Count: 2.3k

The class went smoothly, as it always did. Maybe it was because you were younger and close to most of your students’ age, or maybe it was because you were strict and had no problem in putting it to practice. Most of the others professors thought you wouldn’t last a day, but it wasn’t that hard. Sure, at first they tried to treat you like a friend and that was solved with simply setting some limits.

“Remember to read the three chapters for tomorrow.” A few sighs were heard here and there but you ignored them. “Class dismissed.”

As you picked up the papers on your desk and waited for everyone to get out, an all too familiar face was right in front of you.

“Can I talk to you? Everyone left already.”

“I already told you we can’t talk here, they will think I have some kind of favoritism.”

Hangyul spoke up again. “I’m broke.”

You stopped midway before turning to him. “What do you mean you are broke?”

“Living alone isn’t easy…” You rolled your eyes and he laughed. “I might have or might not have lost a bet.”

“That’s your own fault.”

Just as you were about to cross the door, Hangyul pulled you in and closed it again, blocking the entrance as he stared at you with wide eyes.

“I don’t want to drop out. It was a stupid mistake and I need to pay for the tuition… I didn’t think about it, I was kind of drunk and in the middle of a party, I know it was my fault but I really need your help, please.” He gave a few steps towards you, grabbing your shoulders. “Please, y/n.”

You knew each other since a long time, around the start of your teenage years. Hangyul had always been a good boy until he started going out more and more often, which was normal for a college student, but you weren’t expecting it to reach this extent. You knew his family, and it would certainly make you feel guilty to not help him out when they helped you more than once.

“How much do you need?”

“Not much, but that’s not the hard part…” He lowered his head. “I need to pass your class.”

Ah, that was why. “No way, study like everyone else. It wouldn’t be fair.”

“I will do anything, c’mon, pretty please?” A smile played on his lips as he came closer and closer, leaning in to whisper in your ear. “I can be good and follow your orders... Don’t tell me you don’t miss it at least one bit.”

The unexpected action made you push him away, staring right into his eyes as you threatened silently, but he simply laughed it off.

“That will never happen again, and don’t use your body to get results, work that small brain of yours instead.”

And with that you left, a frustrated Hangyul groaning behind you.

The peace didn’t last long, though. You were planning the exam’s questions when the doorbell to the apartment rang. Ignoring it didn’t do much and there were two options; it either was the delivery guy that always got the floors wrong, or Hangyul. The first one at least would bring food to you, the other one probably just a headache.

Finally you pressed the button to open the gate and few minutes later Hangyul was right in front of your door, trying to look innocent with a smile plastered on his face. You moved aside and he came in, blabbering about how much the decoration had changed with a sarcastic tone.

“Can you go straight to the point and tell me what you want?” Your words made him swallow his.

“I already told you. Please, and I will do anything you ask of me after that!”

“Study.”

“I said after.” Since you sat down and kept with your work, he started to get slightly anxious, getting to his knees right beside you. “What if I become your pet for a whole week?”

It wasn’t what you would call “easy” to make Hangyul submit, especially with his playful side coming up every now and then. You two had tried it out once, and it went well, but you had to be rougher than usual on him to understand that you weren’t playing a game. Going through that again and with your career on the line… it wasn’t what you were expecting. If you had to be honest, though, it was quite a tempting proposal.

“I’m listening.” His whole posture changed when you seemed to consider it.

“I-I can do literally anything! It won’t be like last time, I promise, I know how to behave.” You noticed the shiver that ran down his spine when you locked eyes with him.

“So you are again trying to sell your body to me as if I were to buy it?”

He looked down a second. “Well… would you?” His thin voice made you smile.

“Why would I buy you…” You grabbed his chin to make him look up. “If I can have you for free?”

As if it were some kind of code, Hangyul put his hands on his lap and waited patiently for you to tell him what to do. He had gotten better, indeed. Your fingers tangled on his hair, brushing it softly, and his eyes closed at the sensation, trying not to move against your touch because he remembered the instructions you had given him the previous time: I am the one guiding you.

You stood up, signaling him to follow you to the room and he did without complaining. It was strange being with this quiet and obedient Hangyul, but you weren’t complaining. Turning around, you could notice the arousal showing in his eyes, probably reflecting yours. Your hand traced his features before tiptoeing a little and kissing him, his body melting into the kiss and suddenly his arms were embracing you, pulling you closer to him and letting you feel his hardening member against your core.

“I’m sorry, but it’s hard to resist–”

“Did I gave you permission to talk?” He swallowed, smiling bitterly. “You have improved but still are the same Hangyul I know.”

Before he could defend himself, you pushed him against the wall, pressing your thigh against his erection, a pleased smirk on your face as he left out a deep groan. He was about to buck up in response, but he held it back just in time, turning to you with hazy eyes.

“Can I?” His tone was completely different from usual, almost breaking down.

“Hmm, are you this needy?” You pressed again and he whimpered, nodding desperately. “Move.”

Just like that, he started humping his hips, keeping his hands behind his back to try and not touch you, lips pressed into a thin line to not let out his sounds, but he failed miserably the moment you started sucking on the exposed skin of his neck, peppering his jaw with kisses whilst you slipped your hands underneath his shirt, scratching on the muscles of his abdomen, playing with the hem of his pants.

“Mommy, I need more…” The way the pet name rolled of his tongue made you smile. “I haven’t tasted you in so long…”

“Do you think you deserve to, baby boy?”

He let out a whine. “Let me prove it to you. Let me prove how good I can be.”

You didn’t reply to him, and instead proceeded to undress him, appreciating the contrast between your skin and his, whilst Hangyul felt slow trails of fire wherever your fingers touched. He paid attention to your every movement, trying to be patient, but the fact that he didn’t know what was your final decision made him feel anxious. The second you hooked your fingers on the waistband of his underwear, he froze, barely moving when you pulled and took him to the bed.

“Lay on your back and be patient.” He did as you said, the bulge in his underwear twitching the second he saw you searching the room and coming back with a silk rope. “I doubt you’ve learned to keep your hands to yourself.”

Once you made sure that the restraint wasn’t hurting him, you started to undress, smirking at the feeling of his hungry eyes on you, his tongue licking his lips unconsciously as you took off the final piece. You swatted his wrist, seeing that his hands were trying to alleviate the arousal.

“Sorry…”

“Don’t touch yourself and I’ll give you a reward later, yes?” Again, he nodded, the excitation travelling through his body as you straddled his face. “Make me feel good, baby.”

Hangyul wasted no time, opening his mouth and letting it explore you completely, grunting while lapping at your juices. He was good and genuinely putting effort in it, like he always did. His lips closed around your clit, smiling at your soft moan as he delicately teased it, letting it go with a lewd pop and flattening his tongue against your folds. After a few minutes, you were already close, his slow and precise movements bringing you to the edge. When he inserted his tongue in your hole, you yanked his hair, carefully riding his face while chasing your orgasm. He felt your thighs shaking and he damned the rope around his wrists because there was nothing he wanted more than to grab your hips and press you against his mouth to take all of you in.

You moved away, still a little bit weak and kissed him, tasting yourself and showering him with compliments before wiping your juices. Noticing the way his hands were in fists, a dark spot showing through his grey briefs, was enough for you to try and comfort him, getting rid of the rope.

“My baby did so well… You deserve some relief too.” Your hands freed him, his cock standing proud, his tip red and leaking. “How pretty… what would you like me to do, baby?”

“Depends… will there be a second time to this?”

“Depends… are you going to be a good pet for mommy?”

He closed his eyes, his dick twitching once again. “I need you to fuck me, I don’t know how much I can take.”

“Hmm…” Your index finger traced a vein along the side of his shaft, wrapping your whole hand around the head and proceeding to rub it against your palm causing him to grip the bed sheets. “I like this, though. You should work for it and ask nicely.”

“Please, please mommy, fuck me, use me and do whatever you want with me but please do something.”

His begging was more than enough, but added with his messy hair, the sweat running down the sides of his face, your hickeys marking his skin and his precum smeared on the base of his stomach made it even better. You straddled him again, rubbing your core against his member a few times before finally sliding it inside, sighing at the way he filled you.

“I did miss this…” His eyes tried to keep open and stare back at you, but your walls clenching around him kept distracting him. “Having you underneath me, completely giving up…” You grabbed his hands, caressing the faint marks in his wrists and pinned them above his head. “Behaving like a good boy.”

As you started to move, he moaned, turning his head to a side to hide his expression, but you could see through it. He wasn’t used to not having control so he was immediately vulnerable, completely exposed to you and nothing he did could change that. It was deliciously satisfactory to see him like that, trying to fight against his pride and his ego, but he had lost long ago and both of you knew that.

“F-fuck, I’m close… I’m so close, please let me cum mommy, I’ve been good, right? So will you let me cum?” The knot in your stomach tightened at his plea, his voice coming out in soft whispers and completely choked, slightly teary eyes staring right back at yours.

“You finally gave in…” It was impossible to hide the proud smile in your face as you leaned in and pressed a small kiss on his cheek, tasting the salty flavor of one of his tears. You pulled him out of you, shushing his moan as he threw his head back when you started jerking him off. “I want you to paint yourself with your cum, baby, would you do that for me?”

“Y-yes, yes, fuck y/n…”

His hips could barely stay still, thrusting against your hand and staying still as the white ribbons fell on his torso, dripping down the lines of his muscles. Your movements became lazier, leaning in to lick him clean, the faint taste of his sweat mixed with his cum spreading on your tongue as he tried to take the overstimulation. You pulled apart, going to the bathroom to grab a towel and cleaning him before tucking him in bed, caressing his hair.

“What a good boy you’ve become, Hangyul.” He smiled at the compliment.

“Guess I had the best teacher.” His eyes started to close, his words slurring slightly despite his efforts for trying to stay awake, his muscles relaxing as you told him it was okay to rest.

The sudden feeling of a pair of hands on your shoulders made you flinch, turning around to see a still sleepy Hangyul behind of you, sliding his arms down and hugging you until his chin was resting on your shoulder.

“You left me sleeping alone. What are you doing?”

“Since you genuinely behaved well, I prepared a guide for you. I won’t let you pass the class so easily, but here, these are the questions for the next exam.” You waved the sheet of paper in front of him, and he giggled before putting it down. “At least study the answers for them.”

“Always taking care of your students…” His hands slipped under the robe covering your body, massaging your breasts while pressing kiss along the side of your neck. “Why don’t you let me take care of you? I promise to work hard.”

I’m quite proud of this? It started shit as fuck but slowly I got into sub!Hangyul... This could have easily been a pwp story.

~Nani

| Masterlist |

#sub!hangyul is such a foreign concept for me #like his natal chart screams dom so this was a tough one #hope i managed to pull it off #lee hangyul #lee hangyul scenario #lee hangyul smut #hangyul #hangyul scenario #hangyul smut #x1 #x1 scenario #x1 smut #x1 lee hangyul #x1 hangyul #kpop #kpop scenario #kpop smut

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pernatius · 4 years ago

Text

Lost in Space Part 6: Ch 4

Ch 3

Summary: With the fate of the universe resting in her hands, an unnamed Space Explorer and Saamuki first must find Syco to get back their friends.

Lost in Space on Tumblr

Lost in Space on ao3

“There’s a computer chip attached to the back of her head and there’s also an address somewhere embedded in it. I want you to find the address without hurting her and the chip sending any signals.”

Leaning forward and resting his hands on his thighs, he sternly looks at Saamuki. Saamuki looks back unphased by the change in character. “That’s not too much of a task, but, Saamuki, this is a human. You know that and you also know that her homeworld just got detained. That, of course, should mean all of humanity is being tried as we speak. If they find out one is missing and that she’s in our hands, your hands especially-”

“Don’t worry. We’ve been careful, Sakhra.”

“I hope for the sake of the two of us you are. For your sister’s sake, I hope so. I don’t have the same obligation towards you as I did with her, but that doesn’t mean I don’t have morals. I’ll do my best. I won’t ask why, but I could only hope it’s the safest route for you.”

“I owe you again, Sakhra.”

“Let’s hope this is the last time you will.”

Another surprise is that Sakhra had things other than rocks, a hyper-realistic painting of what I later learned is of a deceased lover and a random splotch of green in this muddy colored setting that rested between the two couches. He has quilts that depicted what I assume to be ancient history. White-colored beasts breathed out golden flames onto a town. The townspeople reacted by either throwing spears or running away screaming. Interestingly, the former have similar red symbols as the ones Sakhra just painted on. Death is depicted as well. There are symbols off to the side, also similar to the symbols on him, that I assume are explaining in depth what’s happening in the various images. Again, I’m unable to read the alien language. My now rock ally mounted them over the windows and ceiling. That’s not to say he’s a ten-foot giant. He used a ladder for that part. Then, moved aside the couch he was sitting on, which revealed a translucent screen. Some typing and clicks later and he’s walking towards us with the screen and has his eyes on me. Motioning me to turn the other way, which has me to look into Saamuki’s eyes for reassurance, I do so after I get the needed response. Still, that doesn’t stop the quickened pace of my heart. I’m trusting a stranger I’ve only met once before, but even with that instance, I’ve only known this man for an hour. In that hour we haven’t shared any words. It’s only now we’re sharing looks.

“This shouldn’t take that,” he interrupts himself as he kneels, “Actually, no. This might take a bit. There’s been some code added.”

“Complex code,” Saamuki added.

“For the inexperienced, yes. It’s nothing I can’t handle. It’s similar to the type of code used for military personnel. No, actually, it’s much more similar to what Space Pirates use.”

“That’s not surprising.”

“I’m not going to ask, but it is worrying that you now have a connection with Space Pirates. Well, a deeper connection now. Ah, I got it.”

She grabs the screen from him. “That was a lot faster than I expected.”

“You’re surprised, yet you came to me? Wait.” Still turned away, I get the sense his face turned pale.

In the corner of my eye, I see Saamuki smiling at the screen. I’m not surprised I can’t read any of it.

As her eyes move further down the line of alien symbols, her smile fades. “Wait. Why there? Why is he there?” She looks at Sakhra then looks at me as if either of us knows something she doesn’t. She looks at me like she’s expecting me to tell her there are cameras hidden everywhere and I and Sakhra have been planning this prank for weeks. Like she was then expecting our friends to come any minute now with streamers, confetti, and laughter. “Syco is above my dead homeworld.”

With her grip loosened, the screen falls from her hands. Sakhra catches it before it can hit the floor and shatter. “Syco? Why in the universe are you connected with the man that started the second war. It’s because of him our supplies are low. We’re both criminals, yes, but even those on this world don’t claim him. By now even most Space Pirates wish not to associate with him as well.”

“I thought you weren’t going to ask,” she snapped.

“And I thought you quit drinking, Saamuki.”

“If you weren’t at that barbaric ceremony that I’m certain my sister has made it clear to you she hated as well then I would’ve kept my promise. Besides, it was only one drink.”

“Firstly, no one else knew she hated it besides the two of us. It would look suspicious if I didn’t go. Also, I had to go for other reasons. Secondly, you might not be as intoxicated as last time, but that doesn’t mean you’re no longer a lightweight drinker. I’m going to get you some water and maybe medicine if I still have any before you get even fussier.”

He got up and left the room. A late huff came out of Saamuki with a shout, “I don’t get fussy!”

Not too long after he came back with a glass of water and a small patch of what I presumed was the medicine he mentioned. He placed both in front of her. She looked up at him, offended, and then snatched both from his hands. My serpent-like companion peeled back the plastic from the patch and stuck the pink square onto her right arm as she gulped down the water. “I’m not owing you for this, but that doesn’t exactly mean I’m not thankful.”

After letting out a snicker, he takes the empty glass and replies, “No need. You having to suck it up and admit I’m smarter is payment enough.”

“I didn’t say anything like that.”

Teasingly he voices out, “That being I have more up here than you.” He taps the side of his head. “No, Saamuki, you didn’t say it, but you did admit it the moment you chose to see me again.”

She gets up and grabs my hand. “We’re leaving.”

As she turns around and wraps her hand around the doorknob, he grabs its wrist. “No, you’re not. Saamuki, I’m not exactly sure what you’re planning to do, but what I am sure is that I can’t let you do it because it means getting yourself entangled with Syco even more.”

“You’re trying to stop me? I’m an adult, Sakhra. It should be physically obvious I’m a fully grown woman now. You can’t tell me what I can and can’t do anymore. I thought the last time we spoke had you finally see-”

“See what? The last time we spoke it cemented the fact you haven’t grown yet. You’re still a child, Saamuki.”

It felt weird watching this familiar circumstance as a third party. I kept my eye on Saamuki, but I so desperately wanted to just run out of there without her in hand before the future I know is going to happen becomes the present.

Exploding, yanking her hand free from the doorknob and his grip, she turns around and jabs a finger into his chest. “You don’t know shit about how much it hurt me and you definitely don’t know shit about being an adult. Sure, okay, maybe I don’t act like one here and there, but I could tell you for sure I know I did at that moment. At that time I would’ve risked her life. If the same were to happen right now I’d still be risking her life. It was one of the toughest decisions I’ve made in my entire life and it would’ve been childish for me not to do otherwise. Now I’m making another one. I’m going to do what’s best for everyone and even you, a sad excuse for a father, whether you let me or not.”

“Saamuki,” I begged for her to stop.

Ignoring me, “You always try to talk all big, but that’s just to overcompensate for your insecurities. You’re projecting onto me because I was able to do what you couldn’t do. Maybe I would’ve ended up like your wife, dead, and what would’ve been the father of our kid would’ve ended up like you, grubbling for love from a man that only used him for his lustful desires. Maybe he’d take care of his painting better than you by getting less handsy on it.”

Everything has blown out of proportion. I wish I could’ve acted quick enough, but I still grab both of her shoulders and ask for her to stop before what’s even left can be blown away too. She’s still heated, but I get the sense she went down a few pegs by the look in her eyes.

“I’m sorry,” Sakhra apologized.

I let go of Saamuki and turn around to him.

She asks, “What?”

“I’m sorry, Saamuki, for everything. Yeah, you’re right I am projecting onto you. I’m jealous of you. My wife and I knew too late about the complications. Both of them are now dead and I couldn’t do anything about it, but even as I grew jealous I still helped you do it because I care about you, Saamuki. You and your sister were the only ones I had left in this cruel place we call the universe. Now you’re the only one I have left.”

Turning back to Saamuki, her head is down. Then, in a heartbeat, she runs forward and wraps her arms around him. Both he and I are surprised. The former of which had stepped back and raised his arms. It took him a moment to relax and wrap his arms around her. Just like with Mikrovos he’s trying to hold back as much of his weight and strength as he could in fear of crushing her. For me, I’m just a bystander.

“I’m so sorry, Sakhra, for everything that I said. I knew how much it still hurts, yet I stupidly tried to use it against you.”

Resting his head on top of hers he concludes, “It was just the alcohol talking. It’s okay. Besides, I deserved all of that. I needed that. Thank you.”

“I wish I could make it up to you by avoiding Syco.”

This wasn’t my chapter to finish, but I wish it was. Their moment of reconciliation is cut short with the sound of blasters being fired. Breaking his embrace from her, he motions for all of us to stay silent as he approaches and moves the recently made curtain away from the window closest to him. Doing so, and he quickly finds what’s responsible for the noise.

Closing the curtain and turning back around to us to relay, “Space Pirates. Lots of them. They’re fighting against some of my brothers and sisters.”

“None of them are Tauvoxes, right? Syco, specifically,” I asked.

“No. A large group from two different factions. Although, things are getting messy out there. I’m going to escort you two back to your ship, so you can get off-world before things get any messier.”

Saamuki interjected with, “But you’re going to get hurt, Sakhra.”

“You know better than anyone that I don’t get hurt easily. Besides, it should be physically obvious.” It was at that moment I got a good look at the scars underneath the red paint, reminded by the aftermath of him going toe to toe with The Commander. “Please, Saamuki, let me do this. You won’t have to owe me for this either.”

“Fine,” she sighs, “We can’t afford for me to argue more than I already have.”

We’re off. Saamuki is in the front and I’m in the back. Sakhra is our shield at our right as a battle between two types of criminals, ones who are Space Pirates and who aren’t, wages on the other side in front of the memorial. One faction looks octopus-like as their tentacles, which each have a streak of purple paint, snake out of their shimmering cloaks as they shoot at the residence of this planet. The other faction is covered in red armor with streaks of yellow. A blue, rectangular forcefield that’s been manifested by the armored faction acts as a wall between the two groups. I get snippets of names being called, nothing important. Blasts stray away, bounced off, and hit our bodyguard. Saamuki of course notices and becomes worried. We both saw what happened in the bar, but she’s understandably blinded my emotions. He brushes her off by reminding her we have to keep moving.

By the time we get to the ship, he’s covered in blackened spots. While dusting them off Saamuki apologizes profusely. He tries to tell her he’s okay, but she’s not having it. She becomes overbearingly concerned and eventually scolds herself, which Sakhra tries to tell her there’s no need. If the world around me was some summer blockbuster then everything seemed to go frame by frame, slow-mo, as the climax hit. Everything went ridiculously slow. I couldn’t mouth my warning fast enough. It all came with a long pause between each word. Sakhra, midway through his efforts trying to recompose Saamuki, became impaled. A familiar dagger flew right through his chest, missing where I assume is his heart by a few inches. The owner of the weapon, which the other two are slowly finding out, is the very bitter brother that wanted nothing to do about waging war on the Lords.

#207 #lost in space #my writing #wlw #writeblr #writers on tumblr #spilled ink

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danetobelieve · 5 years ago

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Out Of Ctrl || Shiloh and Winston

Winston hadn’t taught anyone about coding in several years. They loved teaching other people, explaining things to them and helping them understand what they could do with this newfound knowledge was fascinating to them. The prospects of what could come from something like that were beyond interesting and when they had agreed that they were going to teach Shiloh, they hadn’t really been joking. So when they had agreed to do this, Winston had immediately begun working on what they could show Shiloh. They had decided that they were going to teach them some basics within Python, it was a nice good language to start with and it would give their new friend the right sort of introduction that they would’ve wanted. They had asked Shiloh to meet them within the computer labs. It had all of the suites that they would need and it had all of the resources. When Shiloh arrived outside of the door, they ran over to it and pulled it open, pulling their glasses up their nose and grinning at them. For once they felt really confident, this was where they were really in their element. “Hey, Shiloh right?” they said, grinning widely.

Shiloh was interested in learning something new and coding had interested her at one point. However, she felt she didn’t have an opportunity to fully explore it so she never tried to. So when Winston suggested helping her, she was excited but wasn’t sure exactly if they had meant it. But once they made plans to do it, she was actually looking forward to it. It was gonna be nice, she knew it. Even if she struggled, she was going to enjoy spending time learning something at her own pace and not dealing with the rest of the confusing things she’d encountered some time ago. With a smile, she entered the building and headed to the computer labs; it had been a while since she came into the university building, but being on their alumni association, she still had her access. She gave a small wave through the door, entering when Winston opened it for her. “Yeah, that’s me. Winston? Hey.” She greeted him as she came inside. “I wasn’t really sure if I was supposed to bring anything but I brought a notebook.” Surely, she’d have to write some things down. Either way, she had it just in case it became necessary.

Nodding, Winston held the door open for them and followed them inside. It was not late in the day but the room would’ve seem dim if not for the fluorescent lights that flickered overhead. Not Winston’s favourite part of the room, sometimes they worked in the dark, but it seemed rude to do so on their first time meeting someone, not to say creepy if nothing else. “Nice to meet you,” they said with a bright smile and a quick nod, “you can definitely write notes if you think it will help you, you could even like type them up and then email them to yourself later,” they led them over to where they’d been sat before. “You can use one of these if you want, cause, it’s probably easier to just show you and get you going straight away rather then like … uh I guess like have you watch?” They shrugged. “Honestly, whatever works best we can do, but I learn better by getting involved so I thought you might too.” They didn’t have a stop button to their mouth sometimes and Winston honestly regretted it.

“Oh, good point.” Maybe typing them out would help Shiloh better than writing them down. She turned her attention back to the computers, opting for one of the ones close to her. “We can do both? You can show me and I can try and do it myself. I do learn better getting involved though, I know that much.” She chuckled as she set her notebook aside, pushing her chair aside so she could sit at an angle and half face Winston and her computer. It didn’t take that many years of school for her to figure out what was the best method for her to learn. Yet, it definitely wasn’t figured out soon enough where she didn’t know what it was like to struggle. “So where should we start first?”

“Honestly, whatever is going to help you to learn this stuff the best is what you should go with,” Winston replied with a shrug, “I am happy to help however, but we can get stuck in and see if we want to make any adjustments. Please feel free to stop me and ask me anything if you need to, I can also go slowly or go back over anything that is confusing but I’m sure you’ll get it very quickly.” Winston opened up the coding suite and looked at the blank black screen with a single flashing white dot on it. “So this is just your coding suite, coding is super easy, all you’ve got to remember is that the computer is clever but incredibly stubborn, it will only do what you tell it to do, so if it is not doing what you want then that’s usually because you’re not telling it to do what you want.” They paused before typing out a quick series of commands. “This is a very simple line of code, all we’re getting the computer to do is print a bunch of text.” They pressed a button on the keyboard and the line of text, “Hello, my name is Winston.” Appeared on the screen. “Now you try … all you have to do is put the print command in and then type out what you want to say…”

Shiloh watched as they opened the coding suite, watching what they did more than listening. Which wasn’t a good thing but it was a bad habit she��d never been able to break from school. However, it seemed simple enough. She knew she could do this. “Okay, so I do this,” She glanced over at Winston, making sure they had their eyes on her screen to make sure to point out something that she might be doing wrong. As she pressed a button, the line of text didn’t come out like theirs. “Oh, man,” she chuckled at her mistake. “I guess I missed something?” She looked over at Winston, hoping they had caught what she had messed up on. They did say that if it messed up it was that you hadn’t correctly told it what to do. Maybe she missed a bracket?

Smiling gently, Winston shrugged. “It’s cool, don’t worry too much about it, like anything else you can make mistakes and learn from them. This is just another one of those things.” They looked at their screen for a moment before showing them how to reset it. “Just check through your code compared to mine, see if you can spot anything that is different from what I’ve got.” They clicked back to their original code before they heard a scuffle. Raising an eyebrow, they turned in their chair, a hand reaching up and adjusting their glasses so that they sat more comfortably on their face. “Did you hear something?” they asked, a gentle shiver of nerves running down their spine.

Shiloh leaned over, trying to figure out what she had gotten wrong. It was a bit tedious, looking at everything and making sure it matched. Already she felt like she was going to have a tough time with this. Shiloh softly muttered to herself, trying to keep focused. However, she finally managed to see what she had gotten wrong. She moved to her screen to fix it when she heard something and picked her head up. “Yeah, I heard it.” What could it have been. “Might have been a rat or something.” Gross to think about there being rats in the university, but it wouldn’t be the worst thing. She returned to her screen, pressing a button and seeing that her line of text came out just like Winston’s. “Hey, look, I did it!” She exclaimed, leaning back into her seat.

Coding could often be tedious. Winston had spent far too much time writing out coding processes by hand to try and work out what the hell was going wrong and understand whether they were asking for the coding processes to be completed in the correct order. But in this moment Winston wasn’t particularly concerned with Shiloh’s coding. Looking around them once more, they were convinced by the lack of any further commotion that this really wasn’t something that they were going to have to deal with or should worry about. “That’s gross if it is rats…” Winston replied with a frown, “I’ll tell someone who looks after the cleaning and stuff and maybe they can look into it.” They grinned as Shiloh managed to complete her task. “Hey, second time lucky! Good job. You’ve officially written your first computer program and can now call yourself a computer programmer.”

Shiloh chuckled, not believing they were serious. “I don’t know if I’d call myself a computer programmer just yet.” She hardly knew what was going on and was just trying her hand at it to begin with. But it did give her a great confidence boost. “But thanks.” She was about to ask Winston where they’d move to next but then heard the same sound again. “The rats sound kind of heavy.” Big. Either it was a lot of them or a big one and for some reason she felt like it was neither of the two. She pushed back on her seat, trying to figure out where the noise came from and waiting to hear it again. She was quick to brush it off once but for some reason something was telling her not to do it again.

“But you literally just wrote a computer program, so by the definition of the activity you’re now one of us.” Winston replied with a grin. “You’re welcome, are you ready to try something new …” they trailed off as Shiloh mentioned the rats. “Yeah, seems kind of weird that they would let rats into this place at all and not exterminate them, it must be expensive if they chew through the wires. As Shiloh moved back in her seat, Winston took it a step further and stood. Looking around, wondering if this was some kind of prank that their friend Todd had come up with. “Hey, is someone … there?” they swallowed as they felt a chill run down their spine, hoping and praying that this was really just a prank and not something else.

Shiloh watched as Winston stood up. She didn’t believe that it was anything to be worried about. It probably was just rats. Really big ones but the fact that Winston called out as if it had the potential to be someone else in this computer lab… it made Shiloh stand up too. If someone were here they’d have to have been crouched down and for a while too since she didn’t hear anyone or see anyone when she came in and didn’t hear or see anyone else since. Just then another noise and a chair from a table on the other end of the room rolled back with some force behind it. “Okay…” Shiloh moved back. She wasn’t really wanting to be caught in some supernatural nonsense. “Maybe we should just get out of here?” Shiloh suggested and just then caught the sound of a shut door. She pursed her lips trying to think of a logical reason for all this. The wind? It’s possible. Right? Another scuffling sound reached Shiloh’s ears and she turned to where she heard it and wished she hadn’t. A thin, small but so very thin creature came out from under the table. “Oh man.” What the hell is that?

As a mottled set of fingers reached around the edge of the table, Winston couldn’t help but swallow apprehensively as the knuckles clicked gently against the table. Pulling itself out from underneath the table. At the end of its fingers were a set of long dirty finger nails, that looked almost claw like and in that moment Winston decided that this definitely was not something mundane. This was not a prank. This was just some more White Crest bullshit that they were now going to have to deal with. “I think you’re right,” Winston replied taking a step backwards and quickly grabbing their bag and laptop as they backed away from the … thing. “I don’t know what that is but I don’t want to find out.” They weren’t sure why, but they tried to keep themselves between Shiloh and whatever this was. “Do you think we should run?”

“Yeah, let’s get out of here.” But to where? And did they really want to get chased by that? Shiloh had no clue how fast it was. No clue what it could do. All she knew was that she was defenseless in a small enclosed room. She tried to get a better look but Winston came in front of her. Could they do something she didn’t know of? “Where do we go?” She asked Winston, hoping they knew something she didn’t. They didn’t know what that was though which meant they didn’t know what it was capable of. And that was frightening enough for Shiloh. What did it want? Would they have to kill it?

“Yep,” Winston was not about to argue with what they saw as a good thing, “getting out of here sounds like a really good idea.” They took several small steps backwards, trying to calm themselves and focus on the inner peace that they had been told that they needed to access to access their magic. But their heart was pounding, their head filled with blood and they forced themselves to take some calming breaths. “I don’t know where we go,” Winston admitted as they pulled their rucksack slowly onto their back, creeping backwards towards the door hoping that they weren’t going to startle whatever the hell this was, “I just know that the sooner I get out of here the better.”

“Okay,” Shiloh agreed, slowly moving back. “On a count of three we both make a run for the door okay?” She waited for their confirmation, not wanting to jump to the countdown. She couldn’t really see it as they kept between her and the creature. It seemed like a bold move for someone that didn’t know what it was but they didn’t seem too surprised by it so they must be at the very least aware of the supernatural. “One,” she began to countdown, still slowly moving away from the monster, not wanting to make any sudden moves just yet. “Two.” Almost there. Shiloh could feel her heart begin to race now that they would soon be making a run for the door. “Three!” She spoke loud enough for Winston to hear and she started to bolt to the exit.

Winston honestly wished that they had said on a count to one, they felt like their legs might just moving at any moment. “Sure, on three.” Winston agreed as they tried to take a step back, they wanted Shiloh to be able to keep track of the monster too just in case it somehow made it past them. Honestly in that moment they weren’t sure why they were putting themselves in danger. They just wanted to make sure no one got hurt. Ironically they were at the top of the list of people they didn’t want to be hurt here. As Shiloh began her count down, Winston could feel their entire body itching as they prayed that they would get away safely. “Oh fuck,” they yelped as Shiloh hurtled towards the door just behind Shiloh, they were nearly there, they were maybe feet away when they felt a felt sharp claws rake their one of their ankles and they tumbled to the ground.

They were almost on their way to freedom when Shiloh heard Winston fall behind her. “Oh no,” Shiloh cried and turned around to try and help Winston up. “Are you okay?” She turned her attention to them, wondering what they tripped over. “What happened?” Either way she tried to help them up, knowing they needed to get out of there. She only hoped they didn’t twist their ankle or any other immobilizing injury. Not that she’d leave them behind but it was a lot harder to run from something when you couldn’t run.

For a moment, Winston was sure that as Shiloh helped them up that they would be able to just stand. They couldn’t feel the pain just yet, but their ankle was strangely wet and as they tried to stand they felt their ankle buckle and had to lean heavily on a desk. “I’m not okay,” they affirmed as they felt blood pour into their trouser, “I think whatever the fuck that was scratched me and it must’ve cut me because I can’t really put any weight on it.” They winced and looked for whatever it was that had done this, but they weren’t able to spot it. “We should try and get out,” they said, wincing as they took a squelching step forward, their shoe filling with blood.

Everything would be fine, Shiloh was sure of it and as she managed to get Winston back on their feet, her hope returned. Then it was gone again once Winston almost collapsed. “Whoa,” she muttered, trying to look down at his foot to see if she can see any damage and then she saw it - blood. Oh that’s not good. She looked back at Winston. “I can help you, just lean on me okay?” Shiloh hoped she was reassuring to them, putting their arm over her shoulder and gripping their side. It was a moment like this that she appreciated the time spent at the gym. “We can do this together,” she encouraged them, not feeling much of a weight on her, hoping that Winston wasn’t holding back.

They weren’t too proud to accept help, Winston wrapped an arm gratefully around Shiloh and wished that they had done more reading about healing magic. But despite all of that, Winston wasn’t about to focus on their regrets now. “Thanks, I don’t know what the hell that is but we should definitely get out of here,” they took a shuddering step forward, leaning fully on Shiloh as they heard scrabbling around them, “I need you to set the pace, I can force myself to keep up but if you let me choose how quick we go then we’lll never get out of here.” They fiddled with the strap of their bag over their shoulder and winced. “We definitely need to get out of here too.”

“Okay,” Shiloh understood their reasoning. It was a little awkward with the height difference but all Shiloh needed was to be given the okay. She picked up her step, keeping a firm grip on Winston’s side, not wanting to look back, she didn’t need it to distract her. She focused on getting out the door. She could pick up the sound of whatever it was behind them and with just that she could tell it was closing in on them. She didn’t waste any time, as soon as they cleared that doorway, she turned, placed one foot down and gave the door a kick with her heel, sending it back with a slam. She heard it make contact with something but ultimately shut. It wasn’t long before there was banging on the door. “Come on, let’s get out, I don’t want to wait to see if that door can hold it.” Or if it could open the door.

This wasn’t how Winston had imagined this going and this might be the last time that they offered to teach someone something. Why was it that whenever they tried to do a good thing for people they got shot down all but immediately by the universe choosing to throw some other form of supernatural bullshit their way. Sweat poured down their neck and soaked into the collar of their shirt. As soon as they were out of the door, Shiloh kicked it slamming shut behind them. There was a crunch as whatever it was slammed into it, and then continued colliding with it over and over again. “I agree,” they turned and looked at the lock, they could try and do some magic but right now they didn’t think they could do it without passing out, “thanks for this,” they stammered as their breath grew ragged, “sorry that your first time learning to code has been interrupted by what looks like some sort of rage monkey.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Shiloh gently responded as she remained focused on getting both of them out of there. Winston surprisingly wasn’t much of a weight to carry, it didn’t take long for Shiloh to get used to it and move at a quick pace. However, she could hear their breathing and while her breathing remained even, she knew theirs wasn’t because they couldn’t keep up. “Do you want me to take you to the hospital?” Shiloh asked, wondering just how much blood they were losing. She didn’t even want to look back and see. It was better to keep moving to the parking lot.

Doing their breath to catch their breath, Winston wiped the back of their palm across their forehead, a cascade of sweat sloughing away as they did so. “Uh, I think that it might be a good idea if you did take me to the hospital,” they said before they heard scuffling and spotted the little goblin thing again. It’s claws were dripping with blood. Winston’s blood. The thought alone made them want to be sick but they steeled themselves, “fuck, we should keep going,” they muttered as the thing scuttled after them, gaining ground in the corridors of the university, blood trailing from both Winston and their pursuer.

“Okay,” Shiloh responded, keeping calm. If they needed to go to the hospital she’d take them there. Her ears picked up the familiar sound and she glanced back, seeing it coming towards them. Shiloh quickly thought of something. “Sorry about this, Winston,” she tried to be as unoffensive as she could possibly be but this was turning into a life or death situation. She wasted no time to scoop Winston up and started running. Maybe it was the rush of the situation but Winston didn’t seem as heavy as she would have thought they’d be, carrying a grown person and all. Either way, she didn’t let that cloud her priorities. They needed to get out of there now. “Is it still behind us?” She asked as she finally made it outside, but not stopping to look as she remembered where she parked, coming closer to her car.

Being swept off of their feet like a damsel in distress was something that Winston could get used to. “What the-” they managed to exclaim before Shiloh had doubled the speed that they were going. Winston was left with no choice but to cling awkwardly to her neck and pray that she didn’t drop them. Yet despite all of that, her grip seemed firm and strong and Winston knew better then to question someone who was in the midst of saving them from a little gremlin that seemed intent on attacking them. “I --” Winston squinted through their glasses which had fallen somewhat lopsided on their face, “I can’t see them,” they replied as they arrived at the car park, “you’re really really fucking strong, thank you, I honestly don’t know if I’d have gotten away without you.” They leaned against a car, pulling their hoodie off and wrapping it around their leg in a poor attempt to stem the bleeding.

Shiloh finally let herself relax when Winston said the coast was clear. She sighed as she gently set them down, mindful of their leg. “It’s a good thing we were together then.” Shiloh wasn't sure how she would react if she came across something supernatural herself. She was grateful pretty much all her supernatural experiences were with someone else with her. She was thankful all her time at the gym had been worth it. Although she was positive some adrenaline had something to do with lifting Winston so easily. “My car’s just over there,” just a few cars away. She pulled her keys out and started to unlock it, the headlights blinking for a moment. She put her keys back in her pockets, ready for them to keep going. “Let’s go.” She took their arm over her shoulder again and walked to her car, opening it up and helping Winston in. She gently shut the door behind them and went into the front seat. The last thing on her mind was blood on her car seats, she was worried about Winston’s safety more. “Alright we’ll be there in a few minutes okay?” She glanced over at them before beginning to drive off.

#p: shiloh #para #wickedswriting #out of ctrl

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